HOUSE OF VEGETA
by pandorahomerus
Summary: As Kakarotto, the 4th royal heir to the Saiyan throne is raised to become a just and loving king, a revengeful kitchenboy called Vegeta threatens the established order as his dark ambitions lead him into his quest for the Saiyan crown.
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer; I don't own anything of the DBZ amine. I am poor, but my imagination rich. Don't sue me (please?).  
  
  
  
WARNING: Story contains scenes of murder, abuse, greed, corruption, rape, jealousy, manipulation, torture, adultery, treachery, violence and death. And your fairytale prince Vegeta is going to make all of this happen within the confines of my twisted imagination. In other words, be warned for you may not like what you are about to read.  
  
  
  
PRELUDE;  
  
An introduction into a strange universe  
  
  
  
The planet Vegetasei had known some rigorous changes. One hundred years ago, the Saiyan race united itself to fight the almighty Cold-empire that was ruled by the tyrant monarch King Cold. The proud Saiyans could no longer stand the domination by the Icejins, and under the leadership of one brave and noble warrior named Bardock, war was waged against the fierce armies of the Cold dynasty. At first the Saiyans were outnumbered and would have been easily overpowered if they had continued to battle alone. However, Bardock was a brilliant leader, talented in more fields then solely in the art of combat. By using more refined tactics such as diplomacy and strategy (terms, which were rather unknown to the Saiyan warfare before) he was able to form powerful alliances with other alien races, which had been suffering equally by the hands of the same oppressor. Together with the strongest and most gifted warlords of all of the united tribes, the Saiyans were finally able to rid themselves of their hated foes and drove the armies of the great King Cold far away into the adverse regions of the universe. The euphoria among the different nations in response to their liberation was astounding, but all of them also carried the burden of the countless deaths and their civilizations in ruins. Wise men and kings of these affected tribes then decided in their wisdom to spare their people from the horrors of future wars and signed a peace treaty, in which they pledged to acknowledge and respect each others borders and to unit at times the threat of their common enemy, the aggressive Icejin race, re-emerged. And so, for the first time in known history, the Saiyan people learned about the benefits of a peaceful existence. Inter galactic trade routes were established, bringing food and luxuries to the common people, businesses flourished and made the population healthier, richer and overall, happier.  
  
Bardock, the inscrutable leader and the hero of this triumphant battle, was crowned King of the Saiyans by the grateful people of Vegetasei. His ascendance on the throne ended the bloody reign of a line of 57 kings of the Vegeta dynasty, and created the foundation for a more fair-minded and considerate society, in which no longer the poor and weak were overruled by the rich and powerful, and where the sword of justice protected the fate of the innocent.  
  
Or at least, that's what the new founded government claimed.  
  
Our story begins with the birth of a prince, named Kakarott, the 4th royal heir to be born of the house of Bardock, and the first in the royal line not to be named after his legendary forefather. The fate of the young prince is entwined with that of a lowly kitchenboy, who the Gods have predestined to become something much greater then his humble birth has limited him to be.  
  
So here we start our journey into this strange universe in which the Saiyan society is free and just. A boy spawn from the loins of the Bardock household is destined to rule, and the only descendant from the Vegeta family is slaving his life away in the drudgery of the castle's kitchens.  
  
I've warned you before, my dear readers, that this story was rather twisted.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
1.  
  
1.1.1 THE BIRTH OF A PRINCE  
  
  
  
The corridors of the vast and ancient castle were filled with the pleasant buzzing of activity, as lackeys and servants rush along, carrying arms full of fragrant bouquets cheerfully decorated with blue ribbons, huge baskets with plump and succulent fruits, and attractive little boxes filled with sweets and brightly colored toys. All these were gifts for the queen and the newborn prince, given by the jubilant Saiyan people who were literally mad with joy by the occasion. They have prayed and hoped for a safe delivery of the little prince for months. The news that he was born and that both mother and son were doing well, had caused a wave of cheers to rise above all the streets of Vegetasei. Everybody, poor and right, young and old, celebrated and hugged each other, for their good King Bardock the 3rd was well-loved as well as their beautiful queen Helena. The coming of an heir for the Saiyan throne from his linage meant that the blissful existence of the common folks would be sustained and guarded for at least another generation. So all the houses were decorated with bright gay banners, and people sang and feasted, while noble men organized splendid parades with music and dance in honor of their new monarch. The festivities lasted till late in the night, and even then, people were getting drunk and mellow while they gathered around the bonfires, belching and farting loudly after their elaborate meals while loosening the buttons of their confining trousers, allowing their stomachs to be refilled with festive booze.  
  
It had been a great and memorable day.  
  
On the other side of the thick castle walls lay the young baby prince, blissfully unaware off all this fuss, cradled in the loving arms of his mother. He was wrapped in the finest textures of smooth silk and satin, decorated with golden patterns of lions and flourishing garlands. The royal emblem of his family, picturing a fierce lion with in its claw the sword of justice, hung heavy around his pale little neck.  
  
Queen Helena sighted deeply as she observed her little boy. She could have never dreamt that she would be able to hold her baby in her arms. Saiyan births are risky both for mother and child. The enormous strength, with which a Saiyan baby freed itself during labor, could literally tear open the womb and cause the unfortunate mother to bleed to a horrifying death. It is therefore that most Saiyan babies were conceived and carried in artificial wombs ever since their race had developed (or rather stolen) the required technology. Royalty however, still had to bear their offspring in the natural way and take these risks. An heir to the throne was too precious to lose, and with still so many rebels remaining faithful to the old regime, who were more then eager to overthrown the good King, the murder of an innocent unborn infant was not unimaginable.  
  
She had prepared herself for a painful delivery, in which her child would be ripped out her body in screams, bringing her agony or an early death. However, the birth of her son was almost painless, and by the grace of the Saiyan Gods she had been able to deliver the baby and survive in good health. And now, the little heir was here, resting in her arms while she was still by his side. A blissful smile adorned her beautiful, gracious face as she cherished this precious moment.  
  
"My little Kakarotto, how sweet and tiny you are. If you could just know how happy you've made me."  
  
She brought her nose close to his rosy cheeks, and caressed his soft, flawless skin lovingly. The baby boy wriggled in her arms, and responded to her caring touch and melodious voice by opening his eyes for the first time.  
  
"Yes! Yes. Look at me little one. Look at me with your bright little eyes. Look at me and remember me, for I'm the one that loves you the most in this entire world."  
  
A soft cooing came from her child. The gentle sound filled her heart with the overwhelming need to protect the vulnerable creature, to nurse her boy with all the care and love that she could give.  
  
As her thoughts were still clouded in the serene fog of maternal bless, and she settled herself deeper into the comfort of the satin blankets that were draped on the royal bed, a persistent knock on the oaken door disrupted her peace.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm bringing your supper your majesty."  
  
"You may come in."  
  
The heavy door creaked open and a young chambermaid entered, carrying a gold embroiled tray on which her supper was served. Not recognizing the servant, the weary queen blinked her eyes and attempted to observe the girl's face as the shy maiden kept her head bowed when she approached her.  
  
"Forgive me for asking, but why is not sister Elaina taking care of me? I thought that she would stay until the baby was asleep."  
  
The young servant responded to this relatively innocent question with a frightened squirm and lowered her head even more, obscuring her features in the shadows of the room.  
  
"M-Milady, the good sister c-could not stay for she was called back to the convent by mother Theresia. A fire broke lose during the celebrations and a number of citizens were injured. Sister Elaina had to head back to attend for the wounded."  
  
"Oh, my dear Lords! I hope that there are not too many victims! It's a shame that such a joyful day has to end in tragedy!"  
  
The queen was visibly shocked, she had a soul as pure as her beauty was alluring and this awful news wrenched her heart.  
  
"Oh, you don't have to worry milady! As I was informed by sister Elaina, there were only people with minor injuries. She promised she would be back as soon to take care of the little prince and your majesty."  
  
"Tell her to stay where she is and that I'll be fine! There's no threat to my health now my little boy is born. My unfortunate subjects need her more then I do."  
  
"As you wish milady."  
  
Queen Helena leaned back into her pillows while she watched how the servant carefully put the tray aside and poured her a drink in a crystal goblet. She couldn't help but to feel guilty that she had acted so doubtfully towards the poor girl. She had noticed that the timid creature had almost fainted of fright while she was addressing her. Why did she let herself to be governed by her overly protective maternal instincts? The royal guards were outside her chamber, guarding the safety of her son day and night. Nobody entered her quarters except for her loyal servants and the king himself. She could afford to be nicer and trustier, although she still could not recognize the young maid. Then again, in a court with thousands of subjects, it was impossible to know them all, especially since most of servants were so respectful towards her and the king that they hardly dare to look the royal couple into the eyes.  
  
"Milady, supper is served. Shall I take over the young prince from you?"  
  
The queen hesitated for a moment, but then handed over her firstborn child. As her hands parted with the soft bundle in which her most precious possession was wrapped, she had to smother a strange sense of panic that sheared her throat. The faint light that radiated from the fireplace illuminated the blue tanned skin and the green braided locks of the chambermaid, while the rest of her figure was still enveloped in obscure darkness.  
  
A small sigh of relief escaped the queen's lips as she saw how the maid took the little prince into her arms lovingly, and played with the infant by snuggling her nose onto his soft cheeks.  
  
"Milady, you can dine at your leisure. I will take care of our majesty for you in the meantime. You don't have to worry."  
  
"That would be great. The delivery has exhausted me and I will need my nourishment to feed my baby. If you could be so nice to attend him while I'm eating."  
  
"Of course milady."  
  
The Saiyan queen lifted the tray and placed it on her sheets. Her supper consisted of two roasted chickens with a large pile of potato puree, side dishes of glazed carrots and sweet pees, and a carafe filled with grape juice. At the moment, the queen would have preferred wine, being withheld from the attractive liquor during the long months that she was pregnant. So she set the goblet aside that her servant had filled for her, and started eating without realizing that the young maid was observing her closely.  
  
When she was almost finished without even tasting a drop of the grape juice, her servant spoke to her in a reverential but also oddly persisting way.  
  
"Y-Your majesty, you didn't finish your drink."  
  
"Oh, you know, I really don't like grape juice that much. Could you please send a message to the royal chef-cook for me that next time, he should serve my diner with a carafe of red wine instead of this? It's far too sour to even consider drinking."  
  
"B-but the v-vitamins and all of the other healthy goodness that it contains - Y-You must drink it!"  
  
"What do you mean my dear? Why should I drink something that I dislike?" the queen said while she was smiling benevolently towards the nervous looking girl.  
  
"I - I mean, it's very good for your health milady. And now you're going to breast feed the young prince, it would be good to get some nutrition inside. Y-you said so yourself."  
  
The young maid fumbled nervously on her braided locks while she kept her eyes fixed on the floor on purpose. Her voice trembled, but she hoped her lady would not notice. She could almost feel the monarch's vibrant eyes pierce trough her back, and look right into her soul, in which case she would find nothing but a demons invested, haunted black hole where once her heart had been. Perspiration started to ran down her back as seconds ticked by without any response. Just as she was almost sure that the queen was suspecting something, the unbearable silence was broken.  
  
"I guess you're right. I do need my nutrition. Do forgive me for being so demanding. Sometimes I just act like a spoiled little girl. I really should change my ways if I ever want to become a good mother."  
  
She reached for the crystal goblet filled to the rim with her beverage, and as she brought the glass to her lips, the servant girl watched with a racing heart while she held in her breath in anticipation. The smooth movement of her throat that followed reassured her that the queen was indeed drinking the deadly potion. As her lady raised the empty goblet and showed it to her with a radiant smile, the young fiend could hardly suppress a shriek of delight.  
  
"There! All finished! Satisfied?"  
  
"Oh, yes milady. It gives me joy to see you take such good care of your health."  
  
"It actually didn't even taste that awful. It had some sweetness in it. I would almost say that it did not tasted like grape juice at all."  
  
"P-perhaps the cook knew your dislike of this beverage and added some sugar."  
  
"That might be. Although he's usually not that considerate."  
  
"S-shall I clear the t-table and leave the prince with you now milady? H-he was suckling my thumb all the time while you were dining. I-I think he may be hungry."  
  
Panic soared trough her mind as she noticed that the queen was still glancing at the empty goblet. Why did she have to place the poison in her drink? She could have just stuff it into her chicken or mix it into her potatoes, the slight sugariness of the toxin would not have been noticed if she had hid it in her food. If the queen suspected anything, she would perhaps not feed her baby and then, her master's carefully schemed and organized plan would be totally ruined.  
  
"Yes, please do so. I guess watching me eat had awakened my little boy's appetite."  
  
The servant was hardly able to hide her relief and sighed deeply while her stampeding heart finally calmed down to a less dangerous pace.  
  
"Y-Yes milady."  
  
The maid came towards the resting queen, who was already holding her arms wide open to receive her baby son. The young prince was safely placed back into her arms. Queen Helena caressed the face of the young boy as if she was touching the delicate peddles of an exquisite flower. She watched fondly how the little Saiyan opened his large dark eyes again and gazed at her, as if he was trying to memorize her face.  
  
"Yes, You are a clever boy, aren't you? You would recognize your mother even in your dreams. Oh, you're going to make your father and I so very proud one day!"  
  
The obscure servant girl finished clearing the dishes and left the royal quarters. As she deliberately lingered by the door, she turned her head and took a peek over her shoulders.  
  
In the soft, flickering illumination cast upon them by the fireplace, the fulfilled and affectionate young mother cradled her beloved son in her arms for the last time of her life.  
  
  
  
This is the first part of a rather elaborate story. Please rate and review this first chapter so I know if I should continue.  
  
NEXT chapter: A kitchenboy's punishment;  
  
Something is cooking in the royal kitchens, and it's far from pretty.  
  
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	2. A kitchenboy's punishment

2.1: THE KITCHENS  
  
"Aaaargh! Where is that little rat!!"  
  
A fat, pink-faced man with veins popping up in his neck searched frantically through the cluttered kitchens. The heat of steaming pots and sizzling pans cast a shiny layer on his already oily skin and made his face resemble a grotesque swollen boil.  
  
"Vegeta! Come out your hiding place you little mongrel bastard! If I get my hands on you, I'm gonna chop off those dirty claws of yours and throw them in the hot stew!!"  
  
The royal cook squeezed his large, sweating body through the narrow corridors while young kitchen boys scuttled away from him like frightened little mice. One boy got out of his way not on time and received a violent punch right in his stomach.  
  
"Get the hell out of my way, you filthy rodents!"  
  
He grabbed the boy by his hair, lifted him up and flung him across the room. The young lad had just enough time to cry out for his mother once before he was smashed into a door of one of the kitchen cabinets. The mad man then continued his hunt and in his haste and clumsiness, he knocked plates, bowls and flasks from the tables, dropping food and drinks on the floor, and made a real mess out of the already chaotic kitchen. When he stepped with his full weight on the hand of a sobbing little boy who was hiding underneath the cooker, a high pitched shriek and a sickening cracking sound could be heard as he pulverized the fragile handbones. The fat cook was puzzled and snatched with his claws in the dark chink. He grabbed a handful of ragged clothing, and, with his pink fleshy lips pulled into a content smile, he dragged out the wriggling form of a yelping child.  
  
"HAH! Got you now you piece of monkey shit! Now you're going to have it! I'm going to break every wretched bone in that puny body of yours!"  
  
"Nooo! Don't master Dodoria! It's me! It's me Timmy! I'm not Vegeta! Not Vegeta! Don't hit me!"  
  
With a terrifying roar, Dodoria tossed the child aside. The wart like horns on his head were flushed red with fury while his blood shot-eyes scanned through the entire space with predatory effectiveness. There were stinking short little brats with black hair everywhere, but none of them had that unruly, upright hairdo that looked like a bush on fire. Where could that mongrel be?  
  
"Maser Dodoria! Master Dodoria! He's here! Vegeta is hiding in here with hmpf -"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Dodoria snapped his thick neck and turned around.  
  
"Who said that?!"  
  
All the boys in the kitchen directly shook their heads and clamped their hands on their mouths while they stared back at him in horror. Uhu. Don't look at us. We didn't say a thing.  
  
The fat kitchen chef took a deep breath and calmed down a bit to focus on his listening. His hearing was bad, having spent more then half a lifetime in the crowded kitchens amid the screams and yells of his infant staff, not to mention amid the noise coming from the cluttering of kitchen utensils and the constant maddening humming of the cooker hoods. With a devilish look on his face, he urged the rest of the children to be silent by pressing his greasy finger upon his lips. It immediately became so quiet, that one can hear a fly sigh from a ten feet distance.  
  
"Hmpffff, Hmmmmpff!!"  
  
It was coming from the other side of the kitchen.  
  
"Hmmmmpff!!"  
  
Apparently from the wall cabinets, in which he had hurled the sluggish boy who was so unlucky to cross his path. The child was still buried until his neck into the wooden door, in which he had made a tightly fitting hole. His arms and legs were sticking outside and were waving madly.  
  
The ruthless kitchen chef paced towards the wall cabinets, suddenly moving with great caution and suppleness. He walked on his toes, careful not to make any noise. He looked rather comical with his oversized body, plump and round like an overripe tomato squeezed into the tight membrane of a pig's intestine, carrying out the movements that would have more suited a gracious dancer, and most of the children had to suppress the giggles that swirled in their stomach as soon as they lay eyes on the stalking monstrosity.  
  
As Dodoria was standing just next to the kitchen cabinet where the child had his head stuck, he reached out and grabbed the boy's kicking legs.  
  
(I know you're in there kitchen rat! I can smell it!)  
  
Suddenly, a loud cry came from behind the closed cabinet door and hectic banging on the sides caused the construction to shake violently.  
  
"Hmmmffppp-Ahhh-master Dodoria he's in here but he pushed his hand on my face and I couldn't say anything but then I bit him and he let go and now he's Hmmffffppp!!!"  
  
The pink-faced cook pulled on the boy's limps and ripped the door from its hinges while he glanced inside with a deranged look in his eyes.  
  
"HAH!!! NOW I GOTYAH!!!"  
  
Within a fraction of a second, a young boy with straight dark hair dodged the maniacally grabbing hand of the fearsome cook and jumped off the shelves. As soon as his bare feet touched the greasy tiles of the kitchen floor, he ran for his life.  
  
"He's running away master Dodoria he's running away behind you!"  
  
Just when he rushed by, Vegeta snapped his neck and sneered angrily at the hysterical boy.  
  
"Shut up squealer! I swear I'll make you regret this!"  
  
Dodoria tossed the broken door in which the screaming boy was still caught aside, and the child landed face down on the ground with a sickening thud. Yelling and raging like a red-eyed bull, the repulsive pink fleshy mountain of a man ran after his quickly moving target. The boy jumped on the table and leapt over hot cooking stoves and dodged knives, ladles, pots and pans dangling from wooden frames hanging from the ceiling. He was so lithe and fast that his assaulter could hardly follow his movements with his eyes. Every time the furious cook reached out he found himself grabbing thin air. Finally his fat and clumsy body gave up on him, and as he collapsed with his hands on his knees while heavily panting for air, his prey was able get away.  
  
"Arghhh! You filthy little rat! Get him! Somebody! Get him for me!"  
  
Some of the kitchen boys obliged and hesitatingly took a couple of steps closer to their fleeing peer, but most of them however, didn't move a muscle.  
  
"GET HIM FOR ME AND YOU ALL WILL GET AN EXTRA PIECE OF BREAD!!!"  
  
Immediately, the whole group became active and stormed towards Vegeta like a swarm of angry bees. The boy was trapped in every direction and could not take a step without somebody trying to grab him by his limps or pulling on his ragged clothes. However, Vegeta was except for fast also very cunning and he was able to evade most of their attacks, reacting mostly on his young instincts. He head budded two kids unconscious who clung on to his sleeves like hungry leeches and then jumped up to reach for the next frame that hung in front of him. With the speed and cleverness of a monkey, he managed to lift himself up and kick the greedy hands off his legs. The boys standing beneath him started to climb up the table and tried to get a hold of the wooden construction, but the fugitive grabbed a knife and cut the thick cord that held the platform. As he held tight to one end of the rope dangling from the ceiling, the heavy wooden frame fell down and collapsed on the table, squashing a couple of unfortunate boys while the rest of them scattered like a frightened flock of birds. He took advantage of this distraction and headed straight for the door, followed by the hollow eyes of one very pissed off cook who could hardly manage to get near the entrance through the chaos of his kitchens.  
  
  
  
2.2: THE STREETS  
  
The young boy ran out of the corridor that led to the hellish kitchens, up the winding stairs, and down the vast hallways with rows of carved stone figures, where his footsteps reverberated against the cold, massive pillars. He ran through the gigantic main portal shaped like a wolf's head and out of the dark, ancient castle into the light of the dusty streets.  
  
The young fugitive turned the corner and leaned against the red colored wall, trying frantically to catch his breath. The stinging sensation in his burning lungs and his mad galloping heart made it hard for him to calm down and ignore his flee instincts. From the very moment that the ranting maniac stormed into the kitchens and yelled his name, the hair on the back of his neck and tail had crawled upright while his young body became tensed like a chord. Only now, with countless heavy doors and numerous stair-steps between him and his cruel master, did he dare to let his soul take a breathe of relief.  
  
The boy brushed the sweat off his dark brows and wiped it off on his filthy clothes with a shaking hand. Once he had glanced cautiously at the people passing by, he spun around and left the street corner, mingling into the scarce crowds as invisible as possible. He still feared that his master would catch and punish him heavily for not meekly accepting an eminent flogging. He wanted to stay outside till the evening fell after which he could take a chance to sneak back into kitchens under the cover of darkness.  
  
It was only one day after the birth of the long awaited prince and the streets of Vegetasei were littered with the trash from yesterday's celebrations. The early morning sun cast its golden beams low over the dark roofs and crimson red walls of the Saiyan dwellings.  
  
Red, especially crimson red, was the Saiyans favorite color. Not only was it the color of good fortune and celebration in their tradition, but it had a practical function as well. You see, in the past, there had been so many wars roaming over Vegetasei and its cities have been attacked so many times with the inhabitants brutally slaughtered, that the sandstone walls were tainted red with blood after centuries of violent deaths. Painting their dwellings crimson was a way for the Saiyans to conceal and forget these dark chapters of their history. Another heritage of their violent past was the outline of their cities; The Saiyans used to exist in very small numbers and therefore they've always been vulnerable to enemy attacks. So the old settlements were constructed within the confines of a protective military wall. As the population grew, the citizens build their homes on top of the old buildings, higher and higher into the sky, till to the present day, most of the houses towered ten to twenty floors in height. It gave the scarce cities on Vegetasei a weird and wonderful, almost enchanting look; Ancient capitals with crumbling foundations, on which large, striking red structures rested and reached far into the blue skies. Life underneath in the crooked, shadowy streets of these cities was peaceful and law-abiding, with most of the Saiyans being content with their newly adopted but blissful lives, guarded by the kings of the house of Bardock. However, in the dark and rat infested alleys of the cities, the poor found their way of life not much changed since the days of their old rulers, as their existence was still filled with hunger and suffering.  
  
The young kitchen boy followed the flow of people streaming towards a nearby plaza, where the daily market was held. It seemed less crowded today then normal. Most of the common folks still were at home, sleeping off their intoxication. There were some drunks lying at the side of the road with their heads down in the gutter, drowning in their own sour stomach contents. Skinny stray luppers* wandered around trying to find something edible among the garbage. Women with children strolled pass the boy, and observed him with wary, pitying looks.  
  
It was hardly surprising that he was noticed. The 7-year-old boy seemed horribly neglected with his skinny bare-feted frame clothed in gray rags. His stubborn hair was full with burs and was dull and messy. His young features looked unnaturally harsh and mature for his age, as if they were scarred and formed by the cruelties that he already had endured during the tender years of his early life. Still, there was also a strange attractiveness in him that could perhaps be explained by the luring look in his eyes. They were dark, but sparkled with amazing liveliness. When the boy smirked, these eyes would light up rebelliously and his lips would be adorned with such a confident and cocky smile that it made him almost look aristocratic and honorable. The boy had the air of a prince, and it seemed somehow wrong to see him clothed and treated like a pauper.  
  
Not even noticing the patronizing look on the women's faces, the young kitchenboy strolled towards the market place. He raised his little head and breathed in deeply the smell of freshly baked bread that lingered in the air like a thick, comfortable blanket. As soon as he passed by the stands with boxes full of crispy bread rolls, biscuits and fragrant corn breads, his stomach started to growl, reminding him of how hungry he really was. A moldy piece of crust was all he had in days. He lingered around market stalls, and watched with longing and jealous eyes how neatly dressed ladies purchased baskets full of delicious groceries and stuffed their rosy cheeked children with tidbits and sweets. One chubby looking boy, dressed in a white linen shirt and green flannel trousers, was pulling his mother on her sleeves.  
  
"Mommy why can't I have that strawberry pie? You promised I could pick something out if I went to the market with you! I wanne have it and I wanne have it now!"  
  
"But you're going to spoil your appetite! You already had two pork-pies and half a roasted pig for a snack since we are here. You're going to be sick."  
  
"But mommy I really really really wanne have it!"  
  
"Well, I can buy it now and give it to you later when we are ho-"  
  
Little Vegeta squared his shoulders and grimaced as the spoiled brat opened his throat and cried loud enough to wake the dead.  
  
"WAAAAAAHHHHHH, BUT I WANNA! I WANNA I WANNA I WANNA!!!"  
  
"Ok, that's fine darling, just stop crying now! Stop crying and mommy is going to buy you-"  
  
"BUT I WANNA HAVE IT RIGHT NOW!!!"  
  
Vegeta thought that the mother would probably have enough of her demanding child, and expected that she would punish him for this stupid outburst. However, to his amazement, the caring mother didn't know how fast to purchase the wretched pie and stuff it into the hands of her infant.  
  
"Here! Here is your strawberry pie! Take it! Now please stop crying."  
  
Her noisy offspring immediately shut his mouth and gazed contently on the warm, tasty looking pie he held in his chubby little hands. He smiled happily, while her mother dapped his eyes dry of tears with a handkerchief.  
  
The unfortunate kitchen boy just couldn't understand this. That spoilt brat acted absolutely repulsive, but his mother rewarded his monstrous behavior with food, kindness and consideration. If he ever dared to act the same way his master Dodoria would flog him with his belt till his back was rare and bleeding. Why was it that this boy, who was about the same age as he was, could get everything his heart desired and had someone who loved him deeply, while he was forced to work from dusk till dawn in the heat and filth of the castle kitchens, while suffering from constant hunger and cold, with nobody caring about him at all? The young boy had to swallow a painful lump in his throat as an odd sorrowful feeling stung his heart. Suddenly, he had the unexplainable urge to run over to the lady, to embrace her legs and beg her to take him home with her. She had a beautiful and friendly face, the face of a loving mother. She could take care of him. She would feed him, comfort him and protect him from cruel men like the one he called his master. And she would love him. If she could love that appealing, shrieking piglet that she regarded as her son, then she must be able to love him too.  
  
  
  
2.3: THE MOTHER AND THE CHILD  
  
He followed the lady and the youngster over the market till they were ready with their purchases. As they headed home, the desperate young boy continued following them, hiding in the shadows of portals and doorsteps of the crooked alleys, careful not to be noticed. The mother and child led him into an unknown part of town. They arrived at a steep but sunny passage, where the cobble stone path was divided by a small trench in which crystal clear water flooded from the city's underground reservoirs. Swallows nested in small holes of the crimson walls, and took off in swarms as soon as they approached. The mother held her pace when they reached a ten store dwelling, which entrance was decorated with colorful folk art paintings. As the mother pushed open the wooden door, the young boy could hear vibrant young voices greeting her joyfully.  
  
While the door closed behind them, the boy found himself alone again with his heart strangely aching with sadness. He hesitatingly walked closer to the building and took a glimpse through the narrow windows. Inside the humble dwelling, a family of five gathered around the staircase in the central hallway. There were two sisters; one small girl with pigtails and one taller girl wearing a red dress with blue ribbons, who were greeting their mother with great excitement, while their chubby brother sat silently on the steps, devouring his strawberry-pie before his siblings could claim a share. Behind the young girls stood a tall, broad shouldered man, his harsh facial features obscured by a thin beard and a moustache, but wearing a visible smile on his thin lips.  
  
"Mother! Mother! Did you bring us some flowers to decorate the windows with? Lydia and I are making garlands to celebrate the birth of the baby prince! We already picked some flowers in the garden to make this!"  
  
The red dressed girl showed her a wreath made of entwined twigs, which had been lavishly decorated with yellow buttercups and green clover. The ornament was completed with a big blue colored bow.  
  
"It's beautiful my dear! I've bought a bouquet of blue Forget-me-nots and white lilies. I think you girls can use them to finish your garlands. "  
  
"And daddy helped us to make the frame! We asked him to make a heart shaped one too. But it's not finished yet, right daddy?"  
  
The young, pigtailed girl looked up at the dark tanned man standing behind him. The father grabbed her and lifted her up to sit on his strong shoulders.  
  
"Yes my little princes! I'm going to make you the heart shaped one."  
  
"And then we can decorate it with poppies, because poppies are red and red is the color of hearts, right daddy?"  
  
The loving father nodded and gave the young girl a radiant smile while he caressed her rosy cheeks with his large hand.  
  
"I see that you have decorated yourself too my dear." The mother said laughingly as she observed her daughter's dress.  
  
The young maiden smiled and her lovely pale skin flushed pink with embarrassment.  
  
"There were some blue ribbons left, so I thought."  
  
"It's beautiful. You look wonderful!"  
  
"Thank you mom!"  
  
The girl embraced her mother happily. Then the whole family moved up the stairs to their home, the children cheerfully chattering and playing while their patient parents listened and watched over them with great care.  
  
When the last of their footsteps died out in the empty hallway, the young boy sighed wretchedly. He abandoned the windowsill and paced, with his dirt stained hands in the pockets of his ragged clothes, slowly away from the blissful looking alley. Not knowing where to go.  
  
  
  
2.4: DARKNESS  
  
He spent the rest of the day thinking about the incident, and as the sun started to set and the sky above the black roofs of the houses painted crimson, indigo, and then finally dark blue with the first glittering of stars, he was still wandering outside the palace walls. His was mind pondering, while his heart kept aching.  
  
Never in his young life had he felt so desolated and sad before. Vegeta was an orphan, his father died when he was two and his mother followed him into his grave not long afterwards. He couldn't remember a lot about his parents, being still so young when they were taken from him, and had therefore never been able to feel sad about this loss. After his mother's death, the young boy was taken to an orphanage, where he was practically left to defend for his own among the hundreds of neglected children, with whom he shared his temporary home. Temporary, because the sisters who were running the place insisted that the children would be taken up into good homes, since they had hardly the means to feed and cloth them properly. Two days before his 3rd birthday, he was taken out of the orphanage by the royal kitchen chef Dodoria, together with tens of other boys, and were all put to work in his kitchens. He found that the man who had promised the sisters to take good care of him, to be cruel and abusive. He was treated very poorly, only given scraps of food to eat and being flogged and punished almost daily, sometimes for no particular reason at all but to satisfy his master's sadistic nature. Like the other kitchen boys, he slept on the greasy kitchen floor and used dry straw to cover his shivering body during cold winter nights. Still, Vegeta had known no other fate but his own and that of his unfortunate peers. He didn't knew better or suffering from long periods of hunger and cold with your stomach turning into a painful knot while the freezing stings of wind lashed his young body was something that everyone simply had to endure. He had not been pleased nor displeased with his life, until today.  
  
Today, he had finally witnessed and understood what he had lost: A family. A loving mother. A devoted father. Siblings by his side to cherish or despise. As he watched the red dressed girl embrace her mother and her little sister being lifted up the strong shoulders of her father, he had felt such sadness wash over his young body, that he could have easily burst into wretched tears.  
  
It seemed cruel that the Gods had shown the little orphan the bliss of a warm and caring home, while his fate had withhold him from such a blessing.  
  
Yet except for the sorrow of loss, the young boy also felt something else stirring, something stronger and more vibrant then the agonizing sadness that tore open his young soul. It crept in his veins and clawed its way through his heart, and filling it with cold, numbing desire. It whispered to him how unfair the world seemed to be, and how ruthless life had treated him so far. It had to change. He deserved better then this. He deserved more. And from now on, he would take what he needed to fulfill his needs, regardless of others. If there were so many people blessed with so much while he had to struggle forth with so little, where was the justice of it all?  
  
The boy's dark eyes sparkled with the fire of rebellion, and for a moment, they outshone even the brightest of evening stars in their greatness. He leapt off the low stone railing of the bridge on which he had been pondering for the last couple of hours, and with a small smirk on his lips, he headed back to the castle.  
  
  
  
  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: AMBUSHED  
  
Vegeta tries to sneak back into the kitchens under the cover of darkness, but his cruel master Dodoria is still eager to discipline him. Will the young kitchen boy be able to avoid harsh punishments?  
  
Next parts will be posted the 2nd of December (hopefully). Until then, please do review and rate my story. It encourages me to continue this story, knowing that there are people interested and read it with the same pleasure as I had when writing it. 


	3. Ambushed

WARNING BEFORE READING: This chapter contains scenes of severe child abuse and extreme violence. Nothing with a sexual contents though, if you were worrying about that, but still, it is not written for the faint hearted.  
  
  
  
2.5: AMBUSHED  
  
The two pale moons of Vegetasei ruled high above a diamond sky when the young fugitive reached the portals of the castle. The massive wolf's head carved in stone that towered above him as he entered trough its mouth over the bridge, cast ghostly shadows on the glistering waters beneath. There was the soft chirping of crickets and the frog's nightly serenade lulling the good inhabitants of the castle to sleep. The courtyard was unattended, except for a couple of dozing guards, and the young boy's lips pulled into a sarcastic smirk as he considered how easy it was for anyone, whether it was a harmless beggar or a deviant rebel, to enter this fort, which was mend to be the most impenetrable castles on whole of Vegetasei. The lazy guards didn't even bother to raise the bridge after nightfall.  
  
He sneaked under the shadows of the ancient walls towards the main buildings. The castle kitchens towards which he heading, were located 7 floors under the tower of the east wing. The only way to reach them, was to descend the 777 steps of long and winding stairs, something which the servants, who had to carry the meals from the cellar to the dining areas on the 2nd floor, had accursed ever since the palace was raised from the ground. However, the entrance to these stairways were locked at night by Dodoria, who feared that some of the kitchenboys would steal from the supplies and sneak out to sell them while he was asleep. Luckily, Vegeta knew of another passageway that led directly to the storage rooms near the kitchens. It was a small and narrow shaft shut off by a wooden flap located at an ivy-covered wall at the west side, which was used by the merchants to deliver goods. It was barely large enough to allow a child's body to fit through. As he pushed it open and peered inside, he could clearly distinguish a long metal slide that ran beneath him and disappeared into the darkness. He managed to position himself on top of the structure, his legs resting on its smooth metal surface and his arms crossed over his chest, and let himself glide down into the narrow pipe.  
  
He tumbled down the long winding structure, till at the end of the tunnel, he finally saw a faint light. The boy fell out of the shaft, and landed on a mount of solid bags.  
  
He was inside the royal storage room. The light of two small candles dimly illuminated it. He looked around, he noticed that the place was filled to the coping with provisions; baskets and crates filled with fresh fruit, vegetables, dried meat and bread were piled up or stored on shelves of heavy sideboards, while thick legs of smoked ham and strings of sausages dangled down from the low ceiling. The boy brushed the dust from his clothes and shook the fine silvery lines of cobwebs out of his hair and tail. His longing eyes kept fixed upon the delicious but forbidden abundance that was displayed before him. He knew how Dodoria kept a strict administration of the supplies, and even the lack of one piece of fruit or a handful of grain may already arouse his suspicion. Still, the very sight of all this delicacies, just laying there all unprotected by the paranoia of his obsessive master, caused the cold hungry knot in his stomach to turn and stir. Finally, the starved boy could no longer control himself and cut a leg of ham lose from its string, holding it in his shivering hands like a thirsty traveler in the desert cherishing his precious water, and crawled behind a couple of large baskets to devour it.  
  
When he had finished the meal and licked the grease from his fingers, his stomach blissfully filled, a draft entered the storage room through the opened shaft and he curled up his body into a tight ball instinctively to shield himself from the cold. For a moment, the faint light in the cellar shimmered fiercely before a second cold wind put out both the candles. Lost in sudden darkness, the young boy panicked and rose to his feet, rushing towards the dark void where once the doors had been. He stumbled over logs of firewood that were all scattered over the floor, and knocked down one of the heavy baskets, filled tot the rim with apples. The dull thumping of the firm fruits resonated against the ancient walls, caused enough tumult to make his heart leap up like a frightened little rabbit.  
  
He remained still for a while, and listened with his sharp hearing if there was somebody coming to inspect the disturbance. Mice and rats, both flourishing in the bounties of the royal storage chamber, scuttled underneath him and he could pick up the dripping of water along the walls, but no one was approaching.  
  
He then moved his small but supple frame across the dark room, his eyes finally adapted to the scarcity of light like those of an night dwelling creature, and he managed to reach the heavy oaken door without causing anymore commotion.  
  
As he carefully pushed the door to a chink, and took a glimpse outside into the passageway, he was relieved to see that there was no one there. The only movements in the desolated corridor came from the shadows that the fiercely burning torches created as they glimmer in the draft. The dark niches in the walls which contained strange, carved out figures of ferocious wolf headed monsters, contrasted sharply against the shimmering light, as their frightful shades seemed to perform a lively but macabre dance.  
  
Vegeta sighed softly and slipped his body through the gap, cautious not to make the heavy door crack in its hinges. He locked the chamber behind him and stepped anxiously into the corridor.  
  
Out of the darkness that enveloped a nearby niche, a hand, pink and revoltingly swollen, grabbed the boy by his arm. Vegeta panicked and his flee instincts compelled his legs to run, just as a vicious blow exploded on the back of his head. The painful impact made his head spin and for a moment, he could see nothing but darkness before his eyes while a nauseas sensation grab hold of his stomach. The boy was forced to turn around, and when his sight finally recovered from the attack, he was scared to death to see the malicious grin of his master hovering above him like the mad smile of a wrathful pagan God.  
  
Dodoria looked at the quivering boy with an almost sick sense of satisfaction written all over his greasy face. His chinky eyes were sparkling of triumph.  
  
"Now I got you, you filthy little kitchen rat!!! I waited all day for this!!"  
  
As the massive cook respired his words into the child's direction, the boy could clearly distinguish the revolting smell of booze lingering in the man's hot breath. His master was drunk, and the grip on his arm was although firm, not steady as the large man had even difficulty to stay on his feet. His nose was red and his pink chubby cheeks were flushed a dark crimson. In his free hand, he held a large bottle of red liquor, that he put on his moist lips once and a while to allow himself to take a sip.  
  
"You thought you could just ran off after what you've done to my beautiful kitchen? Hey? You mongrel bastard! You brat of a disgusting whore!!"  
  
"Let go of me!!! Let go!!"  
  
The drunk grabbed the boy by his ragged clothes and lifted him up. Vegeta struggled to get away, his legs kicked in the air, trying to reach the horrible man in his stomach, in his arms, in his repulsive fat face, anywhere, but his master kept him dangling on an arm's length away from him, while the boy's revolt only augmented his anger. He let go of a terrifying roar and smashed the bottle that he held in his other hand in pieces against one of the carved stone ogres. Then he slowly bent forwards, and picked up the broken bottleneck, its shiny surface caught the flickering light of the burning torches. The boy yelped desperately, as his master ripped open his filthy shirt and pushed the sharp edges of the shattered piece deep into his flesh.  
  
"Shut up you impudent child!! I will show you to be disrespectful towards your master!!!  
  
A soft, frightened whimper came from the poor boy, as the devilish man carved a fine crimson line across his chest. Vibrant blood trickled down his pale flesh, and ran like drops of salted tears down his shivering body.  
  
"P-please sir, p-please don't hurt m-me."  
  
"Who do you think you are to beg me for mercy?! You're nothing but a stealing kitchen rodent!! I'm gonna cut you into pieces and feed you to the luppers!! That will teach you to steal from me!!"  
  
A revolting smell of rotten eggs engulfed Vegeta's sensitive nose as the large man farted loudly, after which he laughed pompously about his vulgar achievement. Dodoria suffered from a very bad case of intestinal gas almost continuously, and he had adopted the disgusting habit of relieving himself in front of all types of companies. It was something that added to the vile man's natural talent to repulse and to sicken his bystanders. However, at the moment, the poor kitchen boy could have cared less if his cruel master was disgusting or not. The frightening words of the sadistic man had almost made him mad with fear.  
  
"N-no! No!! P-please don't hurt me sir! Don't! I didn't. I didn't steal a- anything from you! I swear!"  
  
"You filthy little lying bastard!! How dare you to deny your crimes?!!"  
  
"I swear sir!! I c-could never steal from you! I wouldn't dare!! Please don't cut me! Don't c-cut me!!"  
  
"How many!?"  
  
"H-How m-many of what sir?"  
  
"How many chickens did you grab with your greedy claws you pile of steaming monkey shit!!"  
  
"I didn't s-steal - "  
  
He could not finish the sentence, or he was smashed against the wall brutally. As his back hit the sharp edges of the stones, a sharp pang of agony crept up his spine and exploded in his frail body. The deranged cook pulled his face near his, and as the kitchen boy looked into his master's eyes, he could see the man's revulsion towards him reflecting in the mirrors of his deep foul soul.  
  
"Stop lying you rat!! I know how many we had ordered last week. There were fifteen chickens. We served five of them last Monday to the king and two of them yesterday to the queen. But, this morning, as I counted them, I discovered that there were only four left!! Now, have they just miraculously disappeared into thin air, or did a certain, devious little rodent get its filthy claws on them!!? You tell me, kitchen rat!!!  
  
" No sir! I really did not take them!! I mean, I-it could have been everybody!! It could have been one of the other boys, but I was not me sir! I swear!!"  
  
"Nobody else had the keys to the henhouse where they were kept!! It was your duty this week to take care of them boy, don't treat me like an idiot! You're insulting me with your sorry excuses!!"  
  
"B-But someone might have stolen the k-keys and sneaked into the henhouse while I was sleeping! P-please! You have to believe me! Don't punish me! I didn't take them!"  
  
A numbing pain overcame him as his master slapped him brutally on one side of his temple. The strength with which the blow was administrated caused his head to sweep right back to one side of his shoulders.  
  
"Enough of your traitorous serpent tongue!! Tell me how many you've stolen! Admit to me that you took them you in-breed pest!!!"  
  
He grabbed Vegeta's tail, and crushed it in his large hand. The boy cried out in insufferable agony, as he was sure that his cruel master was bound to break it off, snapping the fragile bones like dry firewood. However, Dodoria loosened his violent grip and rolled the furry appendix around his hand, wheeling it in like a fisherman rolling his line. The master let go of his ragged clothes, and the boy plunged with his head down towards the stone floor till he was held back with a violent yank by his tail. His master's action left him dangling upside down in the air, with his full body weight pulling on a Saiyan's most sensitive organ, making the boy literally mad with pain.  
  
With his eyes blinded by tears of fear, agony and humiliation, the poor boy tried to persuade his master of his innocence, but his soft pitiful pleading was of no use towards the stone hearted man.  
  
"Please sir!! I d-didn't steal from you! Stop hurting me - please - p- please."  
  
The foul man came near him, and sniffed the boy's breath while he still was choking on his tears. A dark shadow cast over the chef's face, as he recognized the odor of spiced ham, lingering around the boy like a lamb's blood tainting the corners of a wolf's mouth. His ravaging anger subsided from his features, and was replaced by an even more sinister mask of deceptive calmness, underneath which his fury boiled and raged.  
  
"You took a piece of Vallerian ham from the storage room, didn't you boy?" he whispered with a low, dangerous voice.  
  
"I can smell it! I can smell it in your breath! You little, ungrateful, stinking piece of lowlife robbed the storage chambers!! Don't even try to deny it or I will pull off your worthless tail this instant!!"  
  
Vegeta eyes showed white with fear, and he could not give answer to his inquisitor for his tongue was paralyzed. His master had caught him red handed, and there were no ways left for him to elude an eminent punishment. He didn't know what the cruel man would do to him, but from the stories his fellow peers had told him about the unfortunate boys who were caught for such a severe offence, he knew he could expect the worst.  
  
The enraged cook dropped the yelping child on the floor. After that boy landed badly and bruised his knees, the large man grabbed him by the unruly bush of hair and yanked on it painfully, pulling the boy back on his feet.  
  
"I'm going to teach you a good lesson kitchen rat! This is never going to happen again, I will make sure of that!"  
  
He kicked the numbed child in his back, and little Vegeta's light body was launched forwards, sending him tumbling to the floor.  
  
"Now start walking boy, I don't have all night to discipline you! Get up and march! NOW!!"  
  
The poor boy could do little but obey his cruel master, and he managed to get up on his shaking legs after which he was pushed, kicked and dragged trough the empty corridors and up the narrow stairs towards Dodoria's quarters.  
  
  
  
2.6: THE CRUELTY OF A FAIR JUDGEMENT  
  
The room where Vegeta was led in to was dark, with only one small barred window letting in the pale light of the moons. The boy was literally tossed aside into a corner, as the anxious man closed the door and locked it immediately with several strings of heavy chains. Vegeta knew that his master was mistrusting, but to the degree in which it manifested itself in his private quarters, the young boy could have hardly believed if it was not that he witnessed it now with his own eyes. This large, foul mouthed man with his vile manners and malicious nature, was scared to death to be robbed or harmed by others and locked himself in at night, making himself prisoner of his own disturbed mind. However, at the moment, the locks on the door were also to prevent his frightened prisoner form escaping.  
  
The shivering boy glimpsed around warily. The room was scarily furnished, with no more but a rusty metal bed, pushed against the wall, a small table and old crooked chair. His heart sank as he spotted a small wall-cabinet, which displayed a range of butcher and kitchen knives. Their smooth blades reflected the faint glow of moonlight penetrating the depressing room. Dangling from a hook next to this gruesome collection, hung the slack leather strap that he knew so well from his former castigations. The old hide was tainted and marked by numerous dark spots, silent witnesses of the suffering of all the wretched victims before him. He observed with hollow eyes and small heart how his master walked towards to the torture device. Although the man's massive back was turned on him, the little boy could imagine vividly how the notorious strap would be taken off the hook and was caressed over its corrupted surface in his tormentor's hands. He breathed in deeply, trying to stop himself from crying so indignantly. So he was going to receive the flogging of his life, big deal. He had been beaten many times before, and had survived every one of them. Even if this time, his master was going to whip him till his back was bleeding and rare, he would able to endure this ordeal. There was no reason to provide the big ugly lump even more satisfaction for his fiendish deeds by weeping and cowering like this. He wiped his tears from his flushed cheeks and stared back at the large man, his dark eyes filled with a bit more confident then just before. However, his brave attempt to control his fear crumbled down immediately as soon as his master turned around and his eyes caught a glimpse of what he really held in his hands. Dodoria had not taken the strap from the wall, but had picked out a broad butchers knife. The boy's breath halted for a moment, and his master's former threats emerged in his mind, filling his already trembling heart with death throes.  
  
Dodoria approached the young boy, who was now crawling back from his threatening figure while he was whimpering continuously. As the drunk executioner looked down, he noticed a dark stain appearing on the fabric of the boy's trousers. He raised a brow, and looked his little victim into his glistering eyes. A smirk adorned his grotesque face.  
  
"Are you pissing I your in pants boy? Why are you so afraid? You don't think I'm going to harm you? Do you? ANSWER ME!!"  
  
"D-don't kill m-me sir! P-please let me live! I will do everything you say from now on! Really! D-Don't c-cut me up and f-feed me to the street luppers, p-please I beg you!!"  
  
Vegeta squirmed as the mad cook threw his head back into his thick neck and burst into a loud bellowing laughter.  
  
"You Stupid, stupid boy!! Why do you think I will finish you off? Hey?"  
  
"T-The k-knife."  
  
"You though I was going to slash your thin little neck with this, and let you bleed to death, did you? You cowering little prick!"  
  
The boy nodded sheepishly.  
  
"HA! What do you think I am? A cold-blooded murderer? A child butcher? You stupid monkey! I'm none of that! Killing runts is against the law. Unfortunately that is, and I don't want to find myself dangling next to some stinking robber just because I gave a no good punk like you what he deserved! No, Dodoria is going to play it smart! I won't let the bastards get me for rightfully punishing scum, for protecting the royal kitchen's property. MY property!"  
  
The gigantic man fell silent for a while as his intoxication ambushed him and send him swirling on his feet. He rubbed his eyes with his fat fingers, and pinched his nose bridge to straighten his blurry vision. Vegeta shivered as he considered the possibility that the man may be too far-gone to know what he was doing. He might promise not to kill him now, and then get a sudden change of heart within the next few minutes. The thought of launching an attack on him while he was still standing there off guard crossed his young mind. He could rush over and grab a sharp knife from the cabinet. He knew he was fast enough to arm himself without getting caught by the sluggish man, and he could plunge the cold steel right into his repulsive fat guts. One slash of the shiny blade, a twist of the handle and perhaps a short howl of pain, and the terrible monster who had caused him so much suffering will be gone for good. He could kill him. He hated his master with such a conviction that he wished that he died a most horrific death. However, such a bloody act would be murder, and although he was cherishing the wicked thought, he could not compel his physical body to actually carry out the task. Not only was he too scared to move even an inch from his place, but it was also the word murder itself that caused his tender conscience to stir. Vegeta was still young, and the prospect of taking a life had yet never tainted his unspoiled mind before. To fight and to survive may be in his nature, but to kill without remorse was certainly not. This however, was going to change in the near future, as cruel fate was going to shape and form his character, like the ruthless winds shaping a tender shoot into a scarred and crooked tree.  
  
Dodoria took a few drunken steps closer towards the cornered boy, swinging the knife dangerously in front him while his bloodshot eyes gazed into his victim's pale, tear stained face.  
  
"Stupid monkey! There are more ways to punish a disobedient mongrel! You don't go wreck up a good dish just because you forgot to put in the salt. You try to correct it, to make it right in such a way that will allow you to serve it. You see boy, I have already invested a lot in you. It takes time to train a new apprentice and those stupid bitches from the orphanage won't allow me to adopt any more boys. So I'm forced to take good care of those I already have."  
  
He snorted and grabbed the boy's hands, dragging his young body towards the small table in the middle of the room. There he pinned them down on the table top, holding them in his tight and painful grip just under the wrists.  
  
"I know that there are some rotten apples amid my boys, and some of them are indeed so bad that they seem to be beyond salvation. But I'm considerate man, and I can grasp how hard it is for stealing motherless scum with the likings like you to obey the rules. So I will be lenient. I just have to make sure that the young crooks will never be able to do it again, but keep them alive to suffer for their crimes while they are still fully able to fulfill their purposes. "  
  
He held the butchers knife close to the shivering boy's face. With his thumb, he rubbed over the sharp edge of the blade, and instantly, a fine red line appeared. Dodoria lifted his hand, and observed the fresh cut while a content smile dawned on his repulsive face.  
  
"Ah, clean and razor-sharp, that's how I like it! This one will cut straight trough the bone."  
  
Vegeta was overwhelmed by distress. His heart pounded with fear, while his eyes shot from his executioner's face to the blade and back again. His master leaned over to him, casting a dark shadow over the boy's frightened features. His words were no more but a venomous hiss, but the terrifying message it carried was still apparent.  
  
"Tell me boy, which hand do you prefer to lose, the right or the left one?"  
  
"NOOO, P-please sir! PLEASE! Don't cut my hands off! I'll do every thing you ask! JUST DON'T CUT MY HANDS OFF!!"  
  
"Silence you fool! You should have known better before you got your greasy little fingers on royal property!!"  
  
The poor boy snapped out of his traumatized state and begged his master for mercy hysterically. His wretched tears rolled down his cheeks in endless streams and he curled his shivering body around his master's leg, doing anything to evoke some pity in the heartless man. But it seemed all to be in vain. Whimpering and choking on his tears, the boy tried fruitlessly to pull his vulnerable hands free from the iron grip, evoking even more anger and cruelty from his vicious master. Eventually, his efforts died, and the pitiful cries of his plead changed into an endless but useless lament as his frail mind went blank by the prospect of the horrific penalty.  
  
He had almost accepted the lost of one of his hands when the sadistic butcher raised his knife high above his head and was bound to let the heavy blade cleave trough the young boy's wrist. 


	4. Death

2.7: DEATH  
  
Fragile moonlight infiltrated a vast chamber in the dormant castle. Pale beams struggled to pierce through the thick darkness that had lingered in this room since the dawn of the Saiyan history. Only small pockets of light, coming from the glimmering torches in the niches, provided some relief from the eternal night that roamed here. In the far corners of the chamber, four mighty pillars, each as broad and sturdy as ancient trees, reached up high into the ceiling, where they supported a magnificent dome. A disk shaped window, located at the highest point of the structure, provided the beholder a glimpse of the wide-open skies, littered with stars.  
  
Seated on his throne between two fearsome stone figures of wolf like creatures, was the Saiyan king himself. He was Bardock the third, ruler of a vast Saiyan empire that reached from the bright stars of Ceflon to the mystical clouds of Bricriu, where new stars were born. The good king was known among his people to be compassionate, just and wise. He was also known to be rather care free of nature, a characteristic he shared with his late father and grandfathers. Whatever kind of obstacles the young king may encounter in his life, he faced them with fervent optimism and the strongest of hearts. However, this day, only one day after the joyful birth of his son and heir, the most horrific news came to him that shattered his peace with such merciless harshness that it had even made his strong spirit stagger in uncertainty and fear.  
  
His wife Helena, the sweet nectar of his happiness and the one he treasured more then life itself, had fallen victim to his faceless enemies. The ruthless villains had planned to murder the young prince, by using the mother as a vessel to guide the toxin into the baby's system through her nursing milk, a scheme so cruel and wicked that it may be plotted by the devil himself. Fortunately, the young prince had survived the villainy, and was in no danger. His mother was vigilant, and was alarmed by the sudden weakening of her health, after which she had decided to let the care for the infant to be taken over by one of her most trusted and royal chambermaids. Soon after that, her condition became worse. When the royal physicians were sent to see her, she was already spasming with pain. Her body was paralyzed and her face pale while she was burning up with fever. King Bardock had never seen his beloved lady so terribly vulnerable. His heart broke as they lifted her up from the comfort of her bed and placed her into a bath with freezing water, to lower her rising temperatures that threatened her life. She lay there, clenching her hands into white fists as she bravely tried to stand the stabbing cold, her sad eyes lingering beneath her dark lashes, her trembling lips unable to respond to the her husband's comforting whispers. Bardock held her hand while she watched him, his own eyes shadowed by sorrow and concern.  
  
Then, finally, after long torturous hours of watching her slipping into unconsciousness and awaken again, he was urged by one of the doctors to leave her with them. First he protested, and even became angry with the poor man, who was merely trying to save her life and needed space and silence to operate.  
  
"How dare you to commend me to leave! I wish to stay with her and you bunch of insolent cross-eyed fools are not going to send me away! What have you done for her so far that had benefited her recovery anyway?! Your medical strategies had only weakened her! I don't even know why I let you idiots stay here to mess around with her life. Guards! Drag these so-called doctors away and find me some real physicians!"  
  
"Your majesty, please! I do understand your anxiety, but you have to trust us. We have nothing but the safety of our beloved queen in our concern. If you make us leave now, I'm afraid she won't be able to make it. Please good Sir, listen to me and let us do our work. Leave the chamber with your followers and grant us more time." an old doctor wearing thick eyeglasses pleaded him. The gray haired man was indeed a bit cross-eyed, but he and his fellow colleagues were the most experienced and brilliant doctors on the whole of Vegetasei, and although he was rather frightened by the king's tirade, he won't allow Bardock to make him and his company leave if there was still a chance to revive his royal patient.  
  
"I don't see how my presence is threatening her health! She needs me here!"  
  
"Your majesty, the queen is very ill. The toxin had poisoned her blood. We need to treat her at once to -"  
  
"What are you going to do to her!?" asked the king in despair.  
  
"Well," and the doctor lifted his glasses from his pointy nose nervously, "We have to remove some of the contaminated blood out of her system. The only option we have is to b-bleed her."  
  
"You are going to cut open her wrists!? Are you out of your mind!!? Don't you see in which kind of state she is in right now? What are you trying to do, kill her?"  
  
"N-No your majesty! B-But you see, the poison her body is suffering from is a very dangerous substance called Tyramide Somphelix. It accumulates in the heart and the nervous system, and paralyzes them. The body has no ability to remove this toxin out of the system, so it keeps circulating in the blood till a lethal amount heaps up and damages these vital organs and eventually, kills the patient. Without this treatment, I'm afraid the queen won't be able to make it to the morning."  
  
"But, how can I be sure that she will be able to survive all this? She is already so weak." Bardock gazed at his wife who was still kept in the icy water, her slender frame drifted weightlessly under the wrinkling surface. Her white nightgown framed her figure like a shroud, and gave her white skin an even more ghostly appearance.  
  
"We are already trying to find a suitable donor to perform a blood- transfusion for her. Don't fear your majesty! I promise you, we will do whatever is in our power to save her. But please, give us a change to do so."  
  
Bardock hesitated, but listening to the good doctor's arguments, he was soon persuaded the leave the royal quarters with his guards, trusting the life of his beloved queen in the hands of the skilled doctors and that of the Saiyan Gods. As he was sitting there, alone in the darkness of the throne room with his guards sent away to grant him a moment of peace and silence, he could only pray that the Gods were indeed merciful and would spare the life of his precious queen.  
  
Bardock's heart skipped a few beats as the stomps of footsteps indicated the eminent arrival of a Saiyan soldier, who would bring him the best or worst of news. The young king jumped up from his wooden throne. His anxiousness was drawing deep lines in his features, and was hardly concealed, even in the faded glimmering of the badly illuminated chamber. The heavy double doors swung open and a young man entered, the tanned skin tone on his cheeks was flushed red and he was out of breath from his effort to bring the monarch the important message. The soldier kneeled in front of the throne. As his voice rasped and whistled, Bardock had to force himself to remain calm and not to seize him by his neck to shake the words directly out of him.  
  
"M-my heh majesthy- theh heh queen, she-"  
  
"Yes!? Tel me, how is she!? Is she cured?"  
  
"N-No Sir - She heh she is-"  
  
"She is what!? Is she still ill? Is she fighting for her life!? What is wrong with her!? Tell me soldier, NOW!!"  
  
The young man hesitated, and Bardock felt a cold sting pierce right trough his heart as he witnessed how the corners of the soldier's lips curled down into a sad ellipse.  
  
"She d-died Sir."  
  
Bardock fell back into his seat. His face grew pale and expressionless. He sat there silently. His hands grabbed the arms of his throne and crushed the wood till it cracked in his grip. When tears finally started to welt, he raised his head and forced himself to look up at the round windowpane in the dome in an effort to fight back his cries.  
  
"They promised me. They promised me that they would save her." The wretched monarch whispered over trembling lips.  
  
"There was nothing the royal physicians could do for her anymore after the bleeding treatment failed. The toxin had infiltrated her vital organs and her heart seized functioning. The doctors had done their best Sir, but our ladyship was already to far gone to be saved."  
  
"I'm sorry Sir." The soldier added. He bowed his head and kept his eyes on the red carpet, not sure if he should get up and leave the monarch with his grief or stay down on his knees since he had not received his permission to rise. There was a long moment of silence, only broken by the soft cracking of the burning torches and the eerie whisperings of the winds entering through the cracks of the ancient walls. Just as the soldier sensed that his legs started to sleep, the king let him rise. He complied. When he looked up and observed the monarch's face, there were no glistering of tears nor sorrow filled expressions that betrayed the man's emotions. Saiyan leaders were mandated to be strong and fearless. The expression of emotions other then happiness or anger was regarded as a weakness that certainly did not suite a Saiyan king. Bardock rose from his throne, and paced slowly past the soldier, who was still standing in position, awaiting the king's orders.  
  
"Perhaps now they will let me see her." The king stated Wile his voice trembled with dark sarcasm.  
  
"My lord, due to the dangerous circumstances, the general had given orders to restrain your majesty's movements around the castle. The villains responsible for this cowardly deed are still free. Consequently, we have to take every possible precaution to make sure that nothing will happen to you my lord."  
  
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THE GENERAL SAYS! I WISH TO SEE MY LADY!"  
  
Bardock stepped resolutely towards the double doors. His long, red cape blazed behind him, and his features twisted in anger. The young soldier tried to stop the king and blocked his way.  
  
"My lord! Please! Don't leave the room! The general and his company will arrive within a few minutes. They will guard your majesty's safety and then you may see the queen as you please. But for now, I strongly recommend my lord to stay in this chamber!"  
  
"I've wasted enough of my precious time in here. If it was not for those cursed doctors, I could have been there for her during her last moments. But now I had to let her die alone, she must have thought that I had deserted her. I won't let her be alone any longer."  
  
The king pushed the young man aside. He left the royal throne chamber and paced down the corridors, closely followed by the loyal soldier, who was determined to guard his lord's safety till the others arrived.  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The bedroom was sparely illuminated by the fire burning in the hearth and the few candles that lit the darkness in front of the opened windows. A chilly, early autumn breeze lifted the frail curtains and made it drift like fog. In the middle of the room was the large, king seized bed, shrouded by layers of silken drapes that concealed the frame of the young queen. Her long, waving hair, still moist of her final ordeals was spread around her face like a black nimbus and her pale skin was almost indistinguishable from the white of the linen on which she was laid. Helena's eyes, which were once the most beautiful orbs he had seen in his life, were silent, and cold. They stared up at the ceiling, observing an eternity of emptiness, while they still captured the horror of the agony she had suffered during her final moments.  
  
Bardock parted the shrouds of fabrics that surrounded his beloved wife. He knelt by her side, and kissed her parted lips, red with tainting blood.  
  
"Helena," He whispered, "my dear Helena. I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid any longer."  
  
He lifted his hand and brushed her raven black locks. The damp nightgown in which she was still dressed stuck to her body like a translucent skin and revealed her round curves. Pink blushes adorned her cold cheeks. As her body was resting there in her white gown, her arms spread aside her chest like the wings of an fallen angel, she appeared more to be like a sleeping goddess then a deceased mortal. It almost seemed if death had ironically intensified her beauty; her looks and youth making it even more intolerable for the young widow to accept her passing.  
  
With a weeping heart, Bardock closed her restless eyes.  
  
  
  
2.8: A GRAVE MATTER  
  
Outside the royal quarters, the young soldier waited anxiously for the arrival of the royal elite. He had followed his majesty till the moment in which he had burst into the room and had dispatched all of the physicians and guards who were still hanging around the queen's deathbed. The king was utterly boiling with rage after he had learned that the doctors were planning to conduct an autopsy on her body. He had threatened to let them all be executed if they didn't disappeared from out of his sight at once, and this message had sent the gray scholars fleeing out of the room immediately. Then, the monarch had locked himself inside together with his deceased queen, and had left the soldier and the guards at the wrong side of the door, worrying sick about their lord's safety. The young man could only imagine what the king would do in his grave grief. His troubling came only to an end when the heavy footsteps of a company of well-armored men resonated through the hallways. From around the corner appeared the fearsome frame of the general of the elite troops. His tight, dark purple uniform accentuating his muscular built, while his chain-mail shirt obscured the vital parts of his body. He wore heavy boots that created threatening echoes when he stepped through the corridors. The large man had an unusual green skin tone and two vulnerable antennae were hidden underneath his steel helmet. This was general Piccolo from the second division of the Saiyan elite, and unlike most of the army superiors, he was not from the Saiyan race. Still, his loyalty to the king was undisputable; it had brought him up to the highest rank of the Saiyan army and had earned him the monarch's trust. Piccolo was powerful, physically as well as politically, and since he owed the latter to the king, it was in his most interest to guard Bardock's regime and safeguard his lord from his enemies.  
  
The general signed to his men to stop and the whole company came to a halt instantly, moving in unison like one massive, steel-plated beast. The division consisted of a small army of one hundred and fifty men; all trained warriors with power-levels well over the thousand. They also wore chain-mail shirts and were armed to the teeth with swords, crossbows and knives while each of them held a shield bearing the royal emblem of the fearless lion. Their proud, Saiyan hair stuck through a cleft in the middle of their helmets and was stained in a vibrant, red color, mimicked the crowns of roosters. Some of them wore scars from previous battles. None of them showed any emotions on their hardened faces.  
  
The general walked over to the young soldier, his hands resting behind his back, obscured by the long white cape that flared behind him. He observed him with a gleam in his strange, alien eyes, and a cynical twist dawned on his lips.  
  
"I thought that I had given you orders to restrain our majesty's movements. Now tell me son, did you lock up our lord in his quarters in order to carry out your duty, or did he lock you out?"  
  
The soldier swallowed loudly before he dared to reply his superior.  
  
"My lord, our majesty did not want to listen to me. He was so determined to see the queen that he had ignored my advice to remain inside the throne room and -"  
  
"What did you mean with giving the king "advice" soldier!? I had given out a restraining order, not a polite request! The king could have been injured or even killed, ambushed by enemies who are more then willing to strike in these times of total chaos! Thanks to your foolishness, our majesty's safety is at stake. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"I'm sorry my lord, But I could not stop the king -"  
  
"NO MORE OF THESE PETTY EXCUSES SOLDIER! You will report to the council the first thing in the morning, and you will receive a severe penalty for your lack of sense of duty. Is this understood!?"  
  
"But sir! I -"  
  
"I repeat, is this understood, soldier!?" hissed the general, and the gleaming of eyes intensified as the Namek's patience started to run out. It seemed better not to question his superior's rather vague motives for punishment, and the soldier drew his eyes away from the general's haunting look in a virtually ashamed manner.  
  
"Yes Sir! It's understood!"  
  
"Good."  
  
The general stepped away from the soldier, not even giving him another glimpse after he had unlocked his gaze from him. He straightened his voice and knocked on the heavy wooden door several times, before losing his patience completely.  
  
"Your majesty! It is I, Piccolo. Let us in my lord so we can guard your safety!"  
  
No reply came. The Namek warrior dark eyes narrowed and he knocked once again with more rigors, making the wooden panel tremble from the brute strength that was applied upon it.  
  
"Your majesty! Unlock the door! As the general of the Tirantia division and chief of the royal guards, I urge you to let us in for your own good my lord!"  
  
It remained silent on the other side. The general became obviously distressed by the lack of response from his king. He paced around with a grim, almost insulted expression on his face. His company watched him stalking around the entrance like a hesitating lion, unsure how to react. Finally, Piccolo turned around and slammed his fists on the wood, pulverizing the fibers while the loud banging resonated through the thick, castle walls, waking the sleeping birds nesting between the cracked stones on the outside of the castle and making them flee in panic.  
  
"King Bardock! This is absolutely intolerable! YOU CANNOT SHUT US OUT LIKE THIS! AS YOUR LOYAL SERVANT, I MUST INSIST THAT YOU OPEN AT ONCE OR I AND MY COMPANY WILL FORCE OUR WAY IN, WITH OR WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION!"  
  
Just when the general was about to punch a hole in the thick oaken construction, the sound of a beam being removed, followed by the cracking of rusty hinges, indicated that the monarch gave up his attempt to isolate himself. With a sigh of relief, Piccolo entered the room, and found his majesty standing in front of the entrance. In his arms, he held the lifeless body of the queen, her long black hair and her gown swept gracefully in the draft that entered through the opened windows. Bardock's face was still emotionless, but his eyes were empty, as those of his beloved queen before he had shut them out of the light for eternity. All happiness had disappeared out of his heart, and he doubt he will ever be able to find it again. Piccolo staggered a few steps towards the king, and fell on his knees.  
  
"Your majesty, do forgive my insolence, but I was afraid that you might had - you might had followed the ladyship towards the land of the dead. I'm truly sorry, my lord."  
  
"You have nothing to be sorry about Piccolo. If you have not come to see me, I would have sent for you."  
  
"My lord." The general looked up to his king, determined to serve him. "Tell me what you require from me and I will carry out your majesty's orders without questioning."  
  
"I want you to find me the men who had done this to my beloved Helena, and bring them to me." Bardock's voice became dangerously low, and his words trembled with hate. "I will not let murderers roam free. I want them to die wretchedly and suffer the same agony that they had put her through. Promise me this, my loyal friend. Promise that you will revenge your queen's death."  
  
"Your majesty, your wish will be done. I will not rest till I've found the ones responsible for this horrid deed."  
  
"Then go with your men and search the castle. Leave me alone to mourn my wife's death." The monarch spoke while he staggered towards the opened door, carrying her corpse carefully close to him as if it was made of fragile china.  
  
"But sir what about you and the young majesty's safety? If the killers are still on the loose, they may strike again, and since there original target was the prince, shouldn't we shift or main priority towards protection of the tow of you?"  
  
The wretched king halted his pace for a moment, and looked back at the general. The vacant look was still lingering in his features, but some of his perception seemed to return after Piccolo had mentioned his son.  
  
"Send one third of your men to guard him. Don't let any other maid take care of him then the one assigned by my wife, but see to it that she will not be let alone with him at any moment."  
  
"Yes my lord, I will see to it at once. Shall I leave another third of my company behind with you, my king?" Piccolo added hopefully.  
  
The king waved with his hand, signing to him that it was not necessary. "You could better use these extra men to keep your promise to me. That's far more important then to safeguard what's left of my wretched life."  
  
He turned away from him, and as he left the room and entered the crowded corridor, the men from Piccolo's division kept their positions and blocked his path. When Bardock tried to push his way trough the men made wall, soldiers at the side closed him in. He was now surrounded by his subjects, all of them were determined to guard their king, but they had no clue how to persuade the monarch to stay in their protection. Bardock gazed upon their icy faces and yelled.  
  
"Don't you all remember who you are suppose to serve!? Listen to me; I don't need your protection! Your queen needed it, but you have failed her! It's now your duty to set this right by revenging her death! That's all I ask from you. Now dispatch yourself and let my through!"  
  
The men hesitated, but soon they parted the way for their lord. When Barock's eyes met with theirs, the soldiers quickly cast them down to the ground in shame. Their king was right, they had indeed forgotten that they were here to oblige him. Their general may know what was best for their ruler, but it was Bardock was carrying the royal scepter.  
  
Bardock had almost reached the end of the hallway, when Piccolo dared to rise without his majesty's permission and rushed out of the room to find his men standing on each side of the passage, clearly marking the path the king had taken to pass through the company. With his heavy brows drawn close in deep concern, the loyal general made a last attempt to reason with the monarch.  
  
"You majesty! My lord! Bardock! I beg you. Not as your general or your subject, but as your friend. Let me send some of my man to come with you!"  
  
However, Bardock did not reply and after he passed the last soldiers on the outskirt of the crowd, he swiftly disappeared out of sight when he entered another dark passageway.  
  
  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: SECOND AMBUSH  
  
Piccolo is determined to find the murderers of the queen. His quest leads him down to the kitchens to his main suspect Dodoria, the royal chef who was responsible for the queen's last and fetal meal. Which gruesome scene will he and his man find as they raid the quarters of the abusive cook, and more importantly, will they be on time to spare Vegeta from his terrible fate?  
  
Next chapter will be posted on mediaminer.org and fanfiction.net, the 23rd of December 2001.  
  
Meanwhile, please review and rate the story. Many thanks and take good care.  
  
Pan.  
  
After a long and agonizing struggle, the queen died of the poisoning. King Barock, consumed by grief, swore to revenge her death. 


	5. Second ambush

2.9: SECOND AMBUSH  
  
"What shall we do now general?" the young soldier who had been previously accused by him inquired. "We can't just let his majesty stray off from the protected areas of the castle. He will become an easy target for the rebels."  
  
The Namek general remained silent for a moment. In his mind he tried to plot out a strategy to guard the king's safety without violating his lord's request for seclusion. There was also the matter of finding the ones responsible for the queen's assassination to attend to. He had already his heart set on a certain primary suspect, and now it would be a matter of quick action to catch the supposed villain before he decided to flee the city. He gazed back at his men, straitening his posture and raising his chin. His dark eyes did not show a trace of his hidden anxiety.  
  
"Men! I want fifty of you to go directly to the prince royal quarters and protect his young highness twenty-four hours a day. You stay by his side whether he's awake or asleep, and you keep an eye on the nanny who's responsible for his care. If the woman even blinks funny, remove the prince out of her supervision immediately, and report to me at once. Go now."  
  
"Yes general!" affirmed the voices of fifty men in loud unison. Without even the need for their general to appoint them personally, the group detached itself from the company in a calm and organized fashion and marched away.  
  
"Now, I want four of you who are the most skilled in stealth techniques to track down the king and guard him. Don't let him know that you are there for his protection. His highness is in great grief due to the death of our beloved queen, and needs his time alone to recover from this painful lost. Hide yourselves well. Again, if any of you find something peculiar, report to me at once."  
  
Four men stepped forward, their eyes glistering and their broad chests swollen with pride to be part of this important assignment. Once again, the men spoke in unison, their low voices roaring their confirmation.  
  
" We are the ones you require general! Your wish is our command."  
  
Piccolo nodded to the foursome and after they left, he gestured to the others to follow him.  
  
"The rest of you will assist me to arrest the prime suspect of this gruesome murder. The suspect is the royal kitchen chef, Dodoria. No crime records exist and although he has a bad reputation amongst the castle staff of being a rather obnoxious, ill-tempered man, he seems clean. Still, be very cautious during the arrest. His powerlevel is just under the thousand, but he's cunning and may surprise you with his brute strength. This raid may not fail, men! He is our only link for solving this crime."  
  
"Yes general!"  
  
With a single, almost imperceptible nod, the Namek brought the whole unit into motion. He paced through the company. The men stepped aside, creating a broad path to let him pass. When he came to the head of the line, the others followed their leader as they started to journey towards the royal kitchens.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
When the company reached the entrance of the royal kitchens, they found two soldiers who the general had sent earlier to be waiting for them. Both men were elite spies, trained in their stealth and combat techniques, and they had shadowed the master kitchen chef Dodoria ever since the physicians informed their commander that the queen was victim of poisoning. Although the cook had served the royal family for many years, Piccolo had his doubt about the man's loyalty. Dodoria was of the Vesuvian race. His people had served the enemy empire of King Cold before the alliance was formed. Although there was a silent agreement between the beaten emperor and the Saiyan kings that had secured the fragile peace between the two races for many decades, there had always been some tension, caused by the mistrust of the Saiyans towards the Icejins or their befriended races. This was not entirely unjustified, since frequently occurring terrorist's attacks and strange incidents of violence seemed often to be linked to the small group of Icejins living on Vegetasei. It was only for the continuation of this valuable intergalactic peace with the mighty Cold Empire that king Bardock had tolerated these disturbances so far. However, if this time, the general would find a connection in the murder of their beloved queen that leads towards the suspicious Icejins, the threat of war may be very eminent. The prospect of a perilous conflict in which millions from the alliance, soldiers and commoners alike, would perish, pressed as a heavy moral burden on the general's shoulders. He had to be exceptionally careful when dealing with this uncommon assignment; his findings may affect the fate of entire nations.  
  
The Namek knew that Dodoria was infamous for his corruptibility. His long years of service in the court meant that he had earned some misguided trust from the officials. There were rumors that he forced his kitchenboys to eavesdrop on important meetings of the black council, after which he sold the information to their opponents, the Reds. Both parties consisted of Saiyan nobles exclusively, but the members of the black council had the unusual gift to perform magic. They were, as they themselves proudly claimed, the more advanced form of their race, having acquired their supernatural skills from mystical alien races the Saiyans once had conquered. Powerful because of their extraordinary talents, but weak in their physical forms, they feared the Reds, a party consisting of hardened warlords. Many of them had served the great king Bardock the second during the battle of Ceflon. These old warriors had very different interests to protect then the mages whom they consider weak and intolerable, and so, the two main advisory commissions of the empire's regime clash with one-another most frequently. If it were not for the absolute power of the throne and their common loyalty to the kings from the Bardock linage, this nation would have been torn by civil war ages ago.  
  
Piccolo stepped toward the two men, and addressed them briefly, not willing to waste more precious time needlessly. They reported to him that nothing peculiar had occurred during the entire time that they monitored Dodoria. It seemed that there was a minor dispute in the kitchens during the early morning, when one of the kitchenboys had defied the chef and escaped from certain castigation for stealing. However, during the rest of the day, there had not been any unusual patterns in Dodoria's behavior. The two left their subject alone after he had locked himself in after nightfall.  
  
"He's still inside the kitchen quarters sir. How shall we proceed?"  
  
Piccolo touched the cool surface of the heavy steel plated door that shut the drafty stairways to the cellars, testing the strength of this obstacle. Breaking it with brute force will certainly create too much racket and alarm the suspect.  
  
"Can one of you pick open the locks from outside?"  
  
The men nodded. One of them drew a long, slim hook from his pocket and inserted it carefully inside the keyhole. He twisted it around a couple of times and there was the sound of a metal contraption that fell into place. The soldier gave the door a gentle push after which it slowly cracked open, revealing a small strip of light.  
  
"Well done." His general complemented with a grin. " Now lets hope that our Vesuvian friend is not expecting visitors on this time of the evening."  
  
The company entered the small hallway and descended down the long, winding stairs. They made sure that they did not made any noise, not even the faintest clanging of shields scraping against the stones or the resonation of footsteps that could warn off their suspect. As the men were halfway to the underground kitchens, they picked up a soft sobbing, coming from behind a closed door that was enveloped in the darkness of a obscured corner of the staircase. The general pressed his finger on his lips, urging his company to remain silent. He waved one of the elite spies to come closer.  
  
"Where is this door leading to?" he inquired in a whispering but clear voice.  
  
"It's leading to Dodoria's private quarters my lord."  
  
"Is he alone in there, or did he receive guests earlier this day?"  
  
"Not that we know of sir. Perhaps it's one of his boys."  
  
A loud, pitiful cry came from the enclosed quarters, followed by the harsh voice of the cook himself. The general could clearly hear the man shout abuses and treats towards whoever was sharing his company in that room, and by the sound of his unsteady voice, it seemed that he had been drinking heavily. Piccolo had to force himself to stay on his location, his body tense with the waves of stirring hormones rushing trough his veins. He clenched his fists and fixed his eyes upon his companions, who were waiting anxiously for a signal. When a second, wretched wail resonated trough the stone walls, the general lost his endurance and he jumped up from his crouched position.  
  
"Men! We're moving in! NOW!"  
  
The silence was cruelly broken by the clanging of armor and the hasty marching of footsteps. With one single blow, the general forced open the wooden door, dislocating it from its hinges and sending it plummeting down. He entered the room, and as he observed the frightful scene that was displayed in front of his very eyes, he could not help but to be shocked motionless. Dodoria had one of his boys pinned down by the wrists on a table and raised up a butcher's knife high above his head, ready to strike down at his little victim. The young boy looked up and gazed upon the Namek's alien face, his cheeks were glistering with tears, while fear is plainly showing in his eyes. The boy cried out to him heart wrenchingly. It was a last, desperate plead for help before the blade dropped down with merciless determination.  
  
  
  
2.10: SALVATION OR DAMNATION  
  
Vegeta stared at the stranger who had suddenly appeared in the opened doorway. He could not recognize the armor in which he was dressed to be the uniform of the Saiyan elite troops, having spent most of his life locked away in the hellish kitchens, but he could understand by the expression on the man's face that he was shocked. Instinctively, he cried out to him for help. His master, standing with his back to the door, seemed not to have even noticed the outburst of activity that had swarm into his quarters, being still captured by the sense numbing experience of his intoxication.  
  
"Quite boy! You've plenty to yelp about when I'm finished with you!"  
  
"NO!!! PLEASE!!!"  
  
The swift flash of the shiny blade caught Vegeta's squinting eyes, just before a bright light emerged that exploded upon his master's hand. A high- pitched shriek came from Dodoria as he let go of the knife. As it dived down, a second beam collided with the metal, and sent the dangerous tool reeling over the edge of the table. The huge man rolled on the floor in great agony, holding his incinerated hand while he shouted curses at the mysterious attacker. A sickening smell of scorched fat filled the air.  
  
"WHO DID THIS!!? WHO DID THIS TO ME!!? I'M GONNA KILL THE FUCKING BASTARD!!!"  
  
"Shut up you sadistic piece of shit! For what you were about to do to that boy, I should have blasted both your hands off! Guards, restrain this beast immediately!"  
  
The small room was swiftly filled with activity as the armored men marched in. They dragged the injured villain away from the quivering child and thrust him with his back against the wall, after which they ceased his hands and tied them together. Dodoria winced when the rope cut through his blistered flesh.  
  
"Arghhh! You're cutting through my hand you stupid fuck!" he spat. "You stupid sons of bit -"  
  
Before he could finish his tirade, one of the soldiers silenced him with the back of his sword's handle, administrating a vicious blow on his jaw that knocked out a couple of teeth.  
  
"Silence villain! You're in custody of the second division of the royal Saiyan elite and you have the right to remain silent, or everything you're about to say from now on can be used against you in future trials."  
  
Dodoria spat out a lump of blood and teeth as he tried to crawl back up. A stunned expression of denial was written all over his face. This could not be happening to him.  
  
"What are you talking about!? he groaned. "You've no right to storm into my room in the middle of the night and treat me like this. I'M THE ROYAL COOK!"  
  
"Exactly, and that's why we are now paying you this late night visit." Piccolo sneered and he crouched beside the large man. They glanced at each other and the general could see the fear and disgust in his prisoner's bloodshot eyes.  
  
"W-What do you mean. I have not violated any law!"  
  
"Chopping off little children's hands seems a violation of the law to me."  
  
"I was just toying with the kid! He stole from the royal supplies! I wanted to scare him so he will never do it again! I wasn't really going to chop his freaking little hands off!"  
  
Vegeta had silently crawled away under the table where he pulled his knees tightly against his shivering body, his arms wrapped around his chest. He was still devastated and wanted to hide from these strange, dangerous looking men, although it seemed to have saved him from a horrid fate. He choked on his tears, when the black boots of one of the soldiers appeared in front of the table, swiftly followed by a chain-mail plated arm. A heavily bearded face, framed in an iron helmet, stared at him.  
  
"Here! I've found the young scoundrel!"  
  
The boy cried as a large, callous hand grabbed him by his arm and dragged him towards the fearsome warrior. He kicked wildly with his legs while he tried desperately to struggle free of the man's iron grip, but he was lifted up into the air as if he was a harmless kitten. A cloud of hot air made his eyes water and squint as the soldier pushed a burning torch close to his face, revealing his young features to the commander.  
  
Trough half-shut eyes and blinking fervently against the light, Vegeta could distinguish the strange, dark alien eyes of the Namek who had rescued him. They were hooded by heavy, hairless brows and were deceptively calm. The look that the general gave him was not a sympathetic one, but it was not a hostile either. He was observing him thoroughly, inspecting the cuts and the rashes on his dirt stained skin, as well as the protruding ribs on his chest and the hollowly cheeks, signs of severe neglect and starvation. It was not until his cruel master started to shout that Vegeta dared to open his mouth and speak up to the striking Namek warrior.  
  
"There you are you little rodent! Look at what you've gotten me into you son of a threefold contaminated whore! You should arrest him officers! Not me! He's the one who's breaking the law here! He stole from the supplies and attempted to destroy the kitchens! Throw him into the dungeon instead of me!"  
  
Piccolo could observe a sudden glittering of light in the boy's eyes. It was the reflection of an outburst of uncontrolled anger. Starting in an unsteady and trembling voice, the plead of the youngster became louder as his hatred against his wicked master surfaced rigorously.  
  
"H-He's lying Sir! I-I haven't stole anything from the storage rooms. I wouldn't dare! That man is evil, I've tried to tell him that I was not guilty but he wouldn't listen. He told me he would cut me open and feed me to the luppers. And then h-he hurt me. I was scared. He wanted to chop off my hands! Please protect me from my cruel master, good sir. Don't let him hurt me!"  
  
Dodoria's eyes bulged in their sockets. He could not believe the nerve that insolent child had to rat on him like this against these cocky-eyed bastards. "Wait till I get free, boy!" He hissed dangerously. "Wait till I get my hands on you. You will regret this squealing of yours so much that you would not even be able to talk about it afterwards! I'll rip out your tongue and seal the wound with hot wax! I'm going to flog you till your back is so rare that you will need a thousand stitches to stop it from bleeding!! "  
  
A malicious blow came from the general, his movements were of such velocity that the boy could not even see his fist make impact with his master's stomach. The effect of the powerful jolt was stunning; it sent the large man reeling against the walls, bending double and gasping for air while his pink face drained white of agony. A sunken imprint of the Namek's fist was left in the trembling obese heap, which was Dodoria's belly.  
  
Piccolo frowned, as the child yelled mockingly at his former boogeyman. He was disturbed by the child's visible enjoyment of the man's demise.  
  
"Serves you right you big farting bastard! I hope they are going to slid you open and spill your guts all over your precious kitchens, you abusive creep! I hope they will let you rot in hell!!"  
  
"Enough of this."  
  
Piccolo seized the child from the soldier and tossed him on the floor. Vegeta landed on his hands and knees in front of the general's boots. Just as he wanted to crawl back up and run away, the Namek stepped on his tail. Gazing up at the large warrior who towered above him, his face grim and stern without a trace of sympathy, the young orphan backed up and sat on the floor motionless, caught by fear.  
  
"I'm not here to arrest you for child abuse Dodoria." The Namek turned and gazed at the restrained man, who was still trying to catch his breath while coping with the painful dent that burnt in his abdomen. "Although this could be added to your crime charges immediately if you chose not to cooperate."  
  
He gestured to one of the soldiers, and Dodoria was hauled up from the floor. The obese chef was not feeling so well. The assault of mister mean green bean had made his stomach swirl and turn, and he was close to throwing up the excessive liquor he had consumed earlier. He squinted his eyes as drops of sweat glide down his eyebrows. His huge palms were slippery with perspiration.  
  
"What do you want of me, Namek." he spoke hostily; his pink, rubbery face still carried that loathing look that showed his contempt for the alien general.  
  
Dodoria was sent bending through his knees almost instantaneously as one of Piccolo's loyal men bashed a spiked club into the soft flesh of his upper calves. It was followed by more vicious blows, some administrated by the boots of the soldier, some with the painful weapon. The large man let go a loud and frightening howl, that made the hair on his young apprentice's tail stand up like that of an startled cat and made him hide behind the legs of the general.  
  
"Address the general properly by his rank, or you will be punished." the soldier informed him coldly, while he forced the beaten man back up.  
  
"I-I have committed no crime, you have no right to treat me like this." the chef stammered. He was clearly intimidated by the violence and the ruthlessness of his attackers, and the booze caused carelessness that had once fuelled his bravery, was starting to expire.  
  
"What do you want from me!?"  
  
"We want you to tell us what you know about the queen's death."  
  
"T-The queen, s-she died?" stuttered Dodoria. The horrid news stunned him, although the full consequences of this incident had a hard time to dawn in his fright and liquor clouded mind.  
  
"She died of a cowardly act of villainy. She was poisoned." The general came closer to his prisoner. Steel cold eyes buried in his formidable features shimmered in the pale moonlight.  
  
"I-I have nothing to do with this, I-I s-swear!" pleaded the captured man dimly, clearly sensing now what the commander wanted to elucidate to him.  
  
"The last meal she consumed came from your kitchens. "  
  
"For fuck's sake! I've served her highness more then loyally for many years! Why are you accusing me of all people of this horrible crime?!"  
  
"You could have been bribed to poison her. Assisting our enemies in a scheme to murder the young prince."  
  
"I will never do such things! I'm entirely faithful to the royal family! Besides, what proof do you have to accuse me of this! It's absolutely preposterous!"  
  
"You are known to have accepted inducements before, Dodoria. Selling out important information to the members of the Red council. Don't deny it."  
  
Dodoria fell silent immediately. His heart sank when it became clear to him that his secrete lucrative activities were uncovered. He could already easily be sentenced to jail for it, if had been found out by the king when all of this mess had not happened. Now he was suspected of the murder of the queen, what had once seemed to be a harmless way to earn a bit more cash besides his normal salary could easily become the loaded evidence that his hangmen need to condemn him with. Sweat started to tickle down his large back as sour panic boiled up and reached his throat. Lurching forward, he spewed out his foul stomach contents just in front of the general's feet.  
  
"You disgusting man!" Piccolo sneered and dragged his face close to him after he was finished. The sickening smell of booze and vomit filled his nostrils. "Don't think we will be more considerate with you when you're going to act all ill and vulnerable. The Bardock law of protecting the weak don't apply to scum like you. Now tell me, did you or did you not receive bribes for the murder of the queen and the prince!"  
  
"N-No, I didn't." the Vesuvian replied, his thick lips still smeared with the sour fluid. "I did not conspire with our enemies to kill her ladyship. You have to believe me! I'm telling the truth!" Dodoria's face was pale like that of a ghost, all his previous rage and wickedness beaten out of him.  
  
Piccolo kept his tight grip on the sweating man's clothes. He could smell the repulsive stench of fear lingering around the fat cook like the fumes of his abusive alcohol consumption. This man, he reflected, could NOT be telling the truth. He was far too nervous to be truthful and must be hiding something that could not stand the light of day. Besides, after he had witnessed what the sordid man was capable of, he needed no more persuasion to condemn him already in his mind. Perhaps the fiend needed a bit more help with his confession.  
  
Dodoria winced as the Namek's knee stroke out and hit him again in his stomach. This time, the tormented cook had nothing left in his system to throw up. He groaned and gulped down the air in short breaths, before the general grabbed him by his fat neck and pressed on his air pipe violently. Vegeta, still confined to the spot where Piccolo had pinned him down by his tail, watched with a mixed sense of horror and sickening sweet reprisal how his former master's face became blue and his eyes started to pull white. Gargling noises came out of the choking man's throat, sounding like an animal about to drown.  
  
"Now, tell me honestly Dodoria, and stop lying to me for I'm becoming more and more sensitive to lies. Tell me what you know about the queen's death." He let go of him, and his prisoner wheezed for air before he was able to speak up.  
  
"Why are you forcing me to plead guilty! I didn't do it! I'm innocent! Believe me!"  
  
"It was your task to prepare her ladyship's final meal that had taken her life. How could you be unaware of her poisoning while you have handled her diner from the beginning to the end of the preparations?" The general questioned warily.  
  
"How would I know?! Someone else could have slipped the poison into her food at any time while I was not watching! Hell, I've got over fifty kitchenboys helping me out to prepare the meals. Anyone of them could have done it!"  
  
"You imply that someone else had carried out the poisoning, while you were all unaware of the infamous act in the meantime?"  
  
"Yes! Yes! Exactly! Come to think of it, it could have been that little rat Vegeta who's cowering there behind you! He was the one responsible for the chickens this week! He could have done it!"  
  
"The boy?" The Namek commander glimpsed briefly at Vegeta, who had listened to the desperate man's allegations with growing panic and dread. He threw himself on his knees in front of the seemingly inscrutable general.  
  
"Don't you listen to a word he says sir! He's lying! He hates me! He just wants to get himself off the hook by blaming me everything!"  
  
"Shut your mouth you deceiving child! Let me tell the general the truth! Yes, it makes fully sense now! He must have done it! He must have fed the chickens with poison and picked the ones which had survived to serve them to the queen!! He's the murdering rat you're looking for!!"  
  
"It's not true! I've not killed anyone! Please Sir, you have to believe me! He's lying! He's lying!" Anxiety was carved on the child's face. His mind raced to find a way out of this wicked indictment, that lingered like a blood tainted blade above the heads of those who were accused. His will to survive grew stronger then ever before.  
  
Piccolo ignored the boy's plead, and turned his attention to Dodoria, who was somewhat relieved to notice that the commander was interested in his explanation. If he could frame the boy, perhaps there was a chance that he could get away with a minor scratch.  
  
"What do you mean Dodoria. How can blame this child for the queen's assassination?" asked the Namek agitatedly.  
  
"I was about to cut off the little bastard's hand for stealing, before you guys came. Last weeks delivery of poultry counted fifteen hens. There were four missing and I blamed it on the boy's gluttony. But now I come to think of it, he must have tried to stuff them full with poison to assassinate the queen. Some of them must have perished from the toxin before they could be served, but two of them ended up on her dinner table. That's how her ladyship came to her end! You filthy, ungrateful hellhound finished her off, didn't you? You vicious little murderer!!"  
  
"I didn't kill her my lord! Honest! Don't listen to that man!"  
  
"How much did they pay you, kitchenrat? Enough to buy yourself a scratch of bread? Hey? Your kind will even sell their own mother to the devil if they had chance! Stuffing yourself full with food that is purchased with tainted money!" Dodoria sneered, his believe in his own version of the truth increased while he was spitting out the stream of immoral lies that sealed the boy's doom. He watched with content how the Namek general ordered his soldiers to restrain the child, who was absolutely mad with fear by now and kept pleading for his innocence in a pitiful lament.  
  
Piccolo observed the wrathful man. He could not detect any shame in his eyes that could betray him for telling lies. In fact, the man had grown calm and more confident, staring back at the general as if the words he had uttered had changed everything, strengthening his former rather feeble believability. When Piccolo smiled at him benevolently, the royal cook could not suspect any hidden meaning behind this sudden act of courtesy then that he succeeded in saving his ass from hanging. He returned the general a wide grin that looked more dumb folded then generous.  
  
"So, that's the whole truth according to you, that a kitchenboy had poisoned our queen, in exchange for let we say, a piece of steel bread?"  
  
"I know, it sounds a bit ridiculous, but you don't know this boy general. I vow to you that he's devious little demon, and not the innocent child he pretends to be. Don't let his wretched tears and pitiful cries deceive you. This child must know more about the queen's death."  
  
"Is that so, master Dodoria." Piccolo inquired and eyed coldly at the whimpering child, who had fallen silent except for the occasional quite sob that escaped his trembling lips.  
  
"Yes good sir, the cursed rat had caused me troubles before. He steals. He lies. He beats up the other boys and threatens them while he robs their hard-earned meals directly out of their hands. You must question him about who had induced him to conduct this cowardly act. He can probably tell you the names of those who are plotting the fall of our beloved king."  
  
No, He's lying.Don't believe him, please." The wretched boy whimpered softly, but all the strength to fight against his depraved master's words had left him. He could do nothing but accept defeat and let his head hang low, while the tears rolled down his pale cheeks.  
  
"So, my dear master Dodoria, do you think that I should interrogate the boy?"  
  
"Yes my lord, make this hellish rodent confess to his crimes." Sneered Dodoria wickedly. "Although you'll definitely have difficulty to make him talk. He's a stubborn little rogue. But perhaps, with a bit more persuasion, a cut in the flesh or a castigation with the rod, will aid you to make him speak, my lord."  
  
"You are implying that I should torture this child into confession." The Namek stated. He spoke the burdened sentence without any emotion. His dark eyes were as still as the silvery surface of a frozen lake.  
  
"I would not call that torture, my good Sir. In your hands, which are the acting hands of the law, it's merely a form of corporal punishment."  
  
The repulsive man gave the general a wide, sickening grin. It was a content smile of a wicked sense of achievement for having condemned an innocent child to a certain death. Although the main purpose of Dodoria's fabrications was to save his own hide, the damnation of that yelping kitchen rodent Vegeta was considered as an added bonus. He hated that boy with a passion, always trying to rebel against his authority in the kitchens, and making a complete fool out him this very morning in front of his boys. If the Namek needed a sheepgoat to satisfy the blood thirst of the revengeful Saiyan king, he was more then willing to sacrifice this nuisance of a child.  
  
The general didn't return the man's heinous smile. He just kept staring back at that mad, grinning face, his eyes expressionless but concentrated, like those of an eagle observing an insignificant rodent. Just as the Dodoria started to suspect that his scheme might not have worked, Piccolo seized him by his arm and this time, he tightened his grip around his rubbery flesh with such strength that the Vesuvian could hear the fracturing of his own bones. The obese man let go of a horrid scream.  
  
"I've never heard such depraved, sinful lies in my entire life! You hell bound gutless excuse of a man! How could you tell such mendacities that could ruin an innocent life, only to save your own worthless hide!" The general barked and forced the arm of the Vesuvian into a frightening angle. Again, the man roared loudly, suffering of intense agony.  
  
" I'm truly insulted that you even believed that I will ingest these badly concocted deceptions of yours! What do you hold me for Dodoria, a fool? An ignorant runt?"  
  
"N-No sir! I was speaking the truth, honest!"  
  
Before Dodoria could continue his plead, he was silenced by a ferocious jolt that snapped his jaw like a dry piece of firewood. The large man whimpered agonizingly, while a coppery taste filled his mouth and fluid tickled down his chin. Although he still seemed to make efforts to speak, his words were completely incomprehensible, drown in vicious pains and an warm gush of his own blood.  
  
Piccolo was about to strike out at the man for a second time, when his anger subsided and the red haze that had obscured his vision cleared. He gazed at the injured, crying man, and noticed the blood that tainted his hands. Silently, he cursed himself for losing his patience. His intention was to make this villain speak, but now he had injured the fiend so severely that he was obviously unable to provide him with any useful information for at least several days. He bold his hands into fists anxiously, while Dodoria watched him with fear struck eyes, expecting that the general was about to give him a second bashing. Instead, Piccolo straitened his attitude, and stepped away, leaving the cowering man leaning exhaustedly against the wall for support, before he collapsed into a pink pile of shivering misery.  
  
"These conscienceless cowards just tick me off." he said, almost excusing himself for his uncontrolled outburst of rage. His men didn't react to it. The general had all the right to lose his patience with this revolting man. Not only his lack of moral and his fiendishness with which he had accused the boy had declined their tolerance towards the villain, it was primarily his plainly visible cowardliness that turned these hardened soldiers against him. His lack of dignity in defeat sickens even the youngest of soldiers in their company.  
  
"General, we found this hidden under a lose floorboard." A soldier handed him a wooden box, framed in steel. A heavy set of chains was wrapped around it and was secured with a robust looking hinge lock. The general blew the dust from the surface. He seized the lock and pulled it off. Wide grew his eyes as he inspected the contents of the small cachet. A small fortune in silver and golden coins, gemstones and diamonds was contained in this humble container. It was a treasure large enough to satisfy the appetite of a modest king, and it was obvious that a ordinary kitchen chef like Dodoria could had never obtained all this by merely keeping a thrifty household. Piccolo scrambled trough the glittering mass. He took a handful of riches and held it in front of Dodoria's eyes.  
  
"I don't think you are capable to make clear to me right now where all this comes from, but you better have a good explanation for how you have obtained it. I don't have to point out to you that I find this highly suspicious."  
  
The muted man responded with a series of anxious, unfathomable sounds, which general ignored. He ordered two men to take the man into custody. Dodoria was staggered, emotionally and physically, and after a few feeble attempts to defy his arrest, his resistance died down completely after the militants used their clubs on them. He was carried away silently, like a heavy lamb to the slaughter.  
  
Vegeta had observed all this with a liberating sense of relief. It occurred to him that the general had merely acted being ignorant in front of his former master. The cunning man had seen through his dishonesty from the beginning. It was with a feeling of wrathful enjoyment that he had witnessed his master's ordeal. The man was wicked, and deserved in his eyes after all what he done, no better fate but the one that the commander had bestowed on him. However, the gruesomeness and the violence with which the man's interrogation was carried out, had disturbed him. It wasn't that he believed that the man deserved any better, but the brutality of the soldiers, to treat a fellow man they have just met with such ruthlessness as if they were not dealing with a conscious being at all, had made a profound impression on his young soul. He did not understand how these men were capable of all this cruelty, and secretly he knew that it was wrong, although he could not ignore the overwhelming sense of sweet retaliation that nursed the deep wounds that his heinous master had inflicted.  
  
The young boy was startled as the soldiers bought him to the imposing man, who had rid him from master's tyranny. A thought passed his mind to thank the general, but he could not bring himself to pronounce the words, for his tongue seemed to be stuck and his mouth dry. He tried to move his lips, but what should have been a well articulate sentence expressing gratitude sounded more like the weak yelping of a frightened animal. He swallowed an arid lump in his throat, and his cheeks flushed red out of an unexplainable sense of embarrassment.  
  
"What shall we do with the boy general? The soldier who held him inquired. "And what shall we do with the others who have been under the suspect's care?"  
  
Piccolo reflected shortly before taking his decisions.  
  
"Bring the other boys to the royal physicians and let them go through a thorough health check. If they resemble anything like this kid we have here, they must be neglected terribly by that conscienceless piece of shit. Let the maids take care of them and make sure they are fed and clothed. When all that is attended to, we will see where we can send them. As for the boy -"  
  
Piccolo paused for a moment and his eyes gazed at the barred window, which cast a striped shadow upon the dark wooden floor. Although he was turned away, he could feel the eyes of the youngster sting in his back. He did not want to look at the boy when giving this order to his men. It was not that he disliked the child or believed him to be wicked for his previous display of total lack of compassion towards his master. He could understand it. He could imagine what kind of hardship he had been trough. However, for the sake of finding her ladyship's assassins, he was forced to take a decision that was against the morals he had fought for all his life. It was injustice, for he believed sturdily that the boy was innocent, but there was something much more significant at risk here then merely the well being of one small boy.  
  
If the words of Dodoria turned out to be true after all, he did not want to take the risk of losing an important lead of the case.  
  
"And the boy sir?" asked the soldier.  
  
"Take the boy into custody as well." said the commander, his face as impassive as always. Guilt stabbed his heart when the boy begun to shout immediately, pleading him that he was innocence and that they had to let him go. Strengthened in his sense of duty by many years of disciple in the Saiyan army, and hardened in witnessing greater wrongs and sorrows on the battlefields, the general was able to withstand Vegeta's pitiful cries. However, as the soldiers tied the boy down by his wrists and carried him out like a criminal, Piccolo had a hard time to convince himself of the rightfulness of his decision.  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The vaults where Vegeta was brought into were dark and damp. Trough the haze of his tears, the flickering of torches that illuminated the hollow pathways with dim light, seemed like disrupted images of suns burning in this embracing darkness. The boy was silent. His head hurt and the rope around his wrists cut trough his flesh. The soldiers who had delivered him here were gone. They have handed him over to a large, sweaty man with a wart teased skin. He wore a pair of dirty slackers and nothing else besides a black mask that obscured his whole face, leaving two holes in the fabric for his eyes.  
  
To the seven-year-old Vegeta, he looked much like a hangman.  
  
The man didn't say much, and did not react to the child's occasional whimpering. He directed him harshly down several staircases. The stench of urine and mold hung in the air. Rats fled away under their feet. The boy winced, as the mad cries of unseen tortured souls grew louder in their descend to hell.  
  
By the time they reached his cell, Vegeta was completely numbed by fear. The silent keeper tossed him inside. He untied his wrists, only to cuff them to a short chain secured to the wall. He did the same to his ankles, after which he kicked a heap of hay that had been lying in the corner of the cell into his direction.  
  
"It's cold down here, use this to cover yourself."  
  
Vegeta didn't answer. He crawled with his back against the brittle wall, and once again pulled his knees up against his stomach. With a blank expression on his face and with his eyes staring into darkness, he started rocking back and forth. His lips moved, as if he was whispering to himself, but he made no sound.  
  
Long after the keeper had left, the empty movements of his lips begun to carry words. First softly, as a whispering breeze, but it became loud and clear till it finally resonated through the walls like the screams of the damned that filled this dark, God forsaken place. It was an endless lament of a young mind gone mad.  
  
"I've not stolen the chickens - I've not poisoned the queen - I've not stolen the chickens - I've not poisoned the queen - I've not stolen the chickens - I've not poisoned the queen -"  
  
The boy survived on these words alone. He could no longer shed tears about his wretched fate, for even the sense of sorrow had abandoned him. All he could do was perform these monotonous actions. It seemed to calm him.  
  
At midnight, when most of the frenzied cries in the dungeon had died down, a mad howling came from Vegeta's prison.  
  
"And what if I had stolen those stupid chickens! - WHAT, IF I HAD STOLEN THEM! - I WAS STARVING!"  
  
"I WAS STARVING!!"  
  
  
  
  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: TWIST OF FATE  
  
In a desperate attempt to escape his prison and a certain death, Vegeta is forced to commit a bloody act that will condemn him to a most gruesome fate.  
  
Next chapter will be posted on mediaminer.org and fanfiction.net, the 28th of December 2001.  
  
Meanwhile, please review and rate the story. Tell me what you think about the last chapter and what should be improved. For those who are still in the cheerful spirit of the season after my silly little tale, Have a warm and memorable Christmas!  
  
Pan. 


	6. imprisonment

2:11 IMPRISONMENT  
  
Days and nights, they seemed to glide by unnoticed. The place where the young boy was condemned to was one of eternal darkness. No natural light could enter here, his prison located deep under the earth. Vegeta had no idea how deep, but it seemed to him that he was entombed closer to the dominion of the Gods of death then his previous prison, the hellish royal kitchens, had ever been. Although life under his master's cruel hands had been tough, he could endure it. Here, where the memory of sunlight was distant and fading and where he was chained like a dog and left to rot amidst the green-eyed rats, frighteningly large spiders and pale colored roaches, life seemed to be mere a shadow of what it should be. It was hardly any worth to preserve.  
  
Vegeta curled himself up into a fetal position. The hay with which he had covered his body was wet, and heavy with the scent of mold. He was shivering continuously. His breathing wheezed and gurgled. His eyes were shimmering rapidly, lost in a feverish dream. He moved his arms and kicked with his legs, trying to escape the nightmare that had captured him. Anxious mumbling followed by a muffled scream.  
  
The boy woke with a bitter taste of copper in his mouth and the noise of his own hampering respiration. He coughed, and lurched forward to spit out dark tainted phlegm. Sweat ran down his widow's peak and drenched his clothes, although he was suffering from the dreadful cold that crept in his wet shirt and remained there.  
  
"Can't you stop coughing all the time!! You're disrupting me in my meditation!" a raspy voice barked from the other side of the prison. Chains rattled in the dark. A tall figure appeared, dressed in the faded, decaying remains of a soldier's uniform. Then the face of a fishlike creature became visible in the sparse light that shimmered through the iron bars of the small peephole in the prisondoor.  
  
"What's wrong with you! Ever since they have tossed you little runt in here I haven't enjoyed one good night of sleep."  
  
Vegeta crawled away from this alien creature, knowing all to well what the man was capable of if he came to close to permit his restrains to grab a hold on him. He instinctively wrapped his tail around his waist. Moving this sensitive organ still caused him sharp pangs of pain, the fragile bones being once fractured on multiple places.  
  
The fishman snickered. He came a couple of steps closer till the tension in his chains restrained his mobility.  
  
"How's your tail, runt."  
  
Vegeta didn't answer, but kept moving away from him till he had his back against the wall on the other side of the small chamber. This part of the cell was particularly damp, with the end of a rusty pipe protruding through the crumbly wall, leaking smelly, brown tainted water. The old pipe was probably a digression from the city's sewer. The dungeons were built during the reign of the ruthless Vegeta kings. Since those who were opposed to their bloody regime were quickly sentenced to death or life imprisonment in those days, the dungeons had been elaborated many times to accommodate new prisoners. They didn't really consider the city's planning when they were expanding it, rather added branches to the dungeon here and there randomly, where it seemed suitable at that time. The wing where Vegeta's cell was located, was erected right in the middle of an existing and ancient sewer system, and traces of old piping were scattered all over the place, like the decaying roots of a dead tree.  
  
"Well, don't be shy just because I yanked on that useless thing a couple of times. If you have the nerves to disturb me, you better keep me company." The prisoner sneered. He scratched the purple, scaly skin on his arms against the stones fervently. Fragments of silver were left in the wall, sticking to an amber colored fluid.  
  
"Damn fleas! Argghhh! This rash is driving me insane!!!" He seized the itching limb and dug his black-rimmed nails into the flesh, hoping the pain would reduce the infuriating irritation.  
  
"You can't come anymore near me now fishface. I know that, so you can't scare me." the boy replied. His voice trembled a little, but he made sure that it was unnoticed. He had learned to pretend to be stronger then he really was. He had to, if he wanted to survive in here.  
  
"Stupid monkey! Among the vermin down here you are the biggest nuisance!" bellowed the alien, and crouched down at the spot where his chains had confined him. His hand reached out to his back, where he clawed his nails over his with welts covered skin till it burst and shed his amber tinted blood. "You! You are a parasite! A pest! An insignificant bedbug! GOD!! I hate little runts like you!!! Your kind always makes me itch!!"  
  
"I thought it was your bad hygiene that causes that." Vegeta said boldly. He had trouble to keep up his pretence. His mind was feverish. The dampness of this prison and the cold had weakened his health considerable. His head felt so heavy, almost too much to carry on his bony shoulders. However, he felt too sick to lie down, though he knew that he was now safe from his fellow inmate's clutch. He simply couldn't breath when he was lying down. His airways would be obstructed instantaneously by a flow of tenacious slime and he had almost suffocated during his sleep the last few times he tried. Exhausted, weak, and haunted by anxious nightmares, Vegeta figured that it was only a matter of time before he would become as crazy as the alien prisoner with whom he shared his cell.  
  
"Stupid, stupid monkey! Stupid!" the fishman yelled continuously, while he kept on scratching himself as if he was obsessed. If the man had any hair, he would have torn it off like a traumatized parrot, picking itself featherless in angst. "Stupid!! Stupid! Stupid!!" The man started rocking back and forth, back and forth. He kept yelling and shouting and screaming. Words, whole sentences without meaning, gibberish in an alien language that the boy could not understand. Then, when he finally spoke in a tongue that was the Saiyan's, the sense of the tirade was still difficult to grasp, for it reflected the troubled man's disordered and chaotic mind.  
  
"YOU STUPID, STUPID MONKEY!! If my master was here, he would have never allowed to lock you up together with me. Me! A loyal servant to the emperor! I would have had my OWN cell. One without a stinking monkeyboy that makes me itch! Master Frieza would have disposed a little runt like you immediately. He hates monkeys. Hates them! He should, because they are all absolute filthy! My master would crush an annoying insect like you with one single hand!"  
  
"Well, he isn't here. Is he?" Vegeta said with difficulty breathing.  
  
"Why you little." The deranged fishman spat. "How dare you to speak about master Frieza so disrespectfully! As a matter of fact, how dare you to speak out his name at all! My master doesn't' like his name to be spoken by you, worthless monkeys. You are our enemies." His foamed lips trembled out of an inexplicable rage.  
  
"Who is this Frieza anyway?" The boy paused, surrendering himself to a vicious coughing fit. As he almost suffocated in the brutality of the convulsion, his fellow inmate watched him cautiously, while he licked the white suds off his burst lips. He looked like a scavenger, stalking his dying prey.  
  
"You sound rather weak, monkeyboy." The fishman remarked almost casually, as if inquiring a close friend for his health. "Don't you need to lie down a bit, instead of asking me about my master?"  
  
Vegeta gasped in prescious air. His ribcage moved in shocking motions.  
  
"Don't mind me. I'm fine." He said, although quite feeling the opposite. "Tell me about that powerful master of yours, why does he hates us so?" The boy wasn't really interested in the man's mad rambling, but he did not like the attention he gave to his weakened condition. He rather had him talking about something else, something that could divert his incoherent mind from the concepts of hunger and him being present.  
  
"Master Frieza hates you monkeys because you're a weak and useless race! You don't deserve to rule the galaxy! The vastness of space should belong to the Cold Empire! Your powers are nothing compared to that of the superior Icejins!"  
  
"Is that so?" Vegeta could hear the howling of the other prisoners outside his cell. They were getting restless, which could only imply one thing in this obscured world that had no other indication of time except for the regular visits of the keeper. When the keeper came down the dungeons, he brought food.  
  
"I don't think the Icejins are so powerful at all if they got their buts kicked by king Bardock." The boy said.  
  
"You insolent fool!! Roared the man, and he clawed his neck fervently. "You stupid, stupid, stupid monkey! How dare you! How dare you to say that!!"  
  
Vegeta moved closer to the prison door located on the other site of the cell near his cellmate's reach. He had not eaten in days. If he wanted to have a chance on a proper meal, if he wanted to survive and not to perish in here with his corpse devoured by a hungry, scavenging madman, he better prepare himself for some action. He stalked towards the entrance like a wary deer. His eyes didn't stray from the dangerous man squatting in the middle of the room one single second.  
  
"Then tell me, why are they beaten then, these Icejins and this superior master of yours? Why didn't they win the battle?" asked Vegeta in a very obvious effort to distract his attention.  
  
"They didn't win because that no-good son of a bitch king of yours chickened out and begged the other enslaved races to join their treacherous revolt! If it wasn't for that, you Saiyans had all perished centuries ago and your race would have been nothing but a faded memory! A mere fart in the face of history, that's what you lowly monkeys would have been! HA!"  
  
Vegeta tilted a sweaty brow in response to this remark, but he continued crawling closer. His sensitive ears could pick up the sound of heavy footsteps and the rattling of chains and locks. Also, the sounds of inmates screaming nervously came ever nearer. It might be his delusional imagination, but he could almost smell the horrible, mushy porridge that they had given him the first few days that he was actually able to get a hand on his share of a meal.  
  
"So, you mean that, although we have won the war and freed many others from those nasty Icejins, it wasn't fair at all, because we asked for help?"  
  
"Precisely! Exactly! That's the truth! Soldiers of the Cold Empire never need help! We can chop up our own enemies. We fry our own rivals, and we certainly can fight our own battles. Calling for help is a habit of the weak and the cowards!!"  
  
"Your master must be furious to have lost everything because of that." Vegeta said, his head twirling and hardly able to pay attention to this peculiar conversation. Still, he tried to make a sense out of his replies, although he doubt if the man cared at all. "I can imagine that I would be pissed if someone wins from me in an unfair way. There is already so much that's unfair in this world. And nobody gives a damn about it."  
  
What am I saying? He thought.  
  
"I mean, it's unfair right? That you guys lost because our king was too much of a coward to battle the Icejins on his own powers."  
  
The fishguy eyed at him for a short moment, but then continued his frenzied speech relentlessly. Indeed, he didn't seem to care if he as talking to someone who was actually listening or that he was talking to a blind wall.  
  
"Of course it's unfair! You monkeys cheated! You didn't play the game according to its rules. No tactics are allowed, what so ever! When warriors fight, they fight honorably, without using their brains, ever!! Thinking is a cowardly habit of the weak!" He barked with such determination and conviction that he scratched his arm till rips of flesh were torn off.  
  
"I think you're right." The boy positioned himself as close to the door as his chains permitted him. His body was tensed like that of a winded spring. A shadow appeared in front of the small porthole, obscuring the scare light that entered. The sounds of a lock being removed.  
  
"But don't think that your kings will remain unpunished for this humiliation, this treachery! My master, the dark prince and son of the almighty King Cold, will take his revenge. He was already planning something, before I got arrested and thrown in here to rot. He was planning something big, something wonderful and of tremendous significance. Something that will bring your arrogant, foolish king to his knees and end his feeble linage once and for all!!"  
  
"Absolutely." Whatever you say, mushbrain, the boy thought to himself. The door cracked open, and a hand holding two cracked bowls appeared in a thin stripe of light cast upon the stones. With one, well-aimed pitch, one bowl was flung into his direction. It soared over the lumpy, cobbled floor in a wobbly line. Vegeta launched his frail body forward, his arms stretched and his hands desperate to receive. Just as the reward of his efforts was no more then a finger's length away from him, a foot, wrapped in the remains of what had once been a sturdy army boot, stopped it's course. The bowl bounced back and spun around, till it finally halted in a crack between two cobbles.  
  
The alien seized the bowl and held it up for Vegeta to see. He sniffed it and looked at it with discontent. Then he gave the boy a wicked grin.  
  
"Why are you still trying, monkeyboy. You know that you are not fast enough. Not anymore."  
  
The door was closed again, and the heavy footsteps of the keeper departed till it died down completely. There was an unusual silence, as the inmates stopped their continuous howling to devour their scanty meals. The only sound that could be heard, came from the boy's soft panting for air.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me! You have your own share. You don't need mine!"  
  
He stared at the villain, his eyes full of hatred, his hands trying to find support on the dirt covered floor. The twisting and coiling of his stomach had never felt this bad.  
  
"You think that I'm actually interested in this MUCK?" The fishman yelled and tossed it away. The bowl exploded against the door in a rain of shards and porridge.  
  
"I've been eating this shit for as long as I have been condemned to this vermin infested hellhole!! I can't stand it!! It's as if they think that they can feed a lion with wheat, or a wolf with grass!! It's fucking preposterous!! I AM A WARRIOR, AND WARRIORS NEED MEAT, DRENCED IN BLOOD AND GORE!! WE EAT OUR CATTLE. WE FEED ON WILD BEASTS. WE FEAST ON OUR BUTCHERED ENEMIES. BUT WE NEVER, NEVER, NEVER FEED OURSELVES WITH PORRIDGE!!"  
  
"I think I've got your point." The boy stammered. His face was pale. The deranged and threatening sprawling of this sick mind got his heart trembling with fear. He gazed at the smudge that the brew had left on the steel door, and a sickening sense of hunger engulfed his body. It felt as if someone had grabbed a hold on his stomach and was wrenching it in his hands. He collapsed, bending double on the stone floor, his body twisting, his hands shielding his painful abdomen, trying to protect it from an unseen torturer.  
  
The fiendish warrior approached the boy, scuffling closer to him till the rattling of chains ceased and permitted no more movement. When Vegeta looked up warily, panting of agony and burning with fever, he stared back at two deranged, bloodshot eyes. They glow with the mad craving of a wild, starving beast.  
  
"Tell me boy." The fishman inquired casually. "How's that fever of yours going. Are you sure you don't need to lie down?"  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Later, when the sounds in the hallway had ceased, and the fishman was curled up in his corner of the cell, lying fast asleep, Vegeta finally found enough strength and courage to edge towards a shard that lay within his range. He took the sharp slice, and hid it under his sleeves, tucking it safely under the metal cuff at the side of the back of his hand. He crawled back to his corner, dreading another night without sleep but finding it eventually as he curled up to a ball, keeping the shard close to his heart. His raspy breathing had cleared up somewhat, and it seemed that object in his hand provided him with a little sense of protection, and had calmed him down.  
  
Next time, when the keeper comes down to their cell and the madman strikes again, he will be prepared to fight back.  
  
  
  
  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: TWIST OF FATE  
  
I'm sorry guys, but I had to split this chapter in two, because it was getting way too long (again). But I think I got the right pacing now. I tried to change my style of writing a bit, making it less tedious to read and more "getting right to it", because I have still so much to tell. So chapter 7 (Twist of Fate) will be the final chapter that closes Book 1 of House of Vegeta, and Book 2 will be about Vegeta's adolescence. I will update the whole division of Book 1 ("Kitchenboy") within this week. Book 2 ("Slave", yep sounds like evil Pan is going to torture Veggie for another while, at least till Book 3 that is, then our Veggie is becoming really pissed!) will appear next year. Meanwhile, thanks for your support and see you (hopefully) back at the 31st of Dec 2001 for the last chapter and the big finale of Book I of House of Vegeta !!!  
  
Cheers, Pan 


	7. twist of fate

2:12 TWIST OF FATE  
  
  
  
It was late in the night, and the old tower at the west wing of the ancient castle had struck three times, when it started to rain. Water poured out of the skies, down on the dusty courtyard, changing it into a muddy swamp in a fraction of time. The rain pounded mercilessly on the dark roofs, and streamed in rivers to the edges, falling down in a curtain of silver, digging wells in the ground where they hit. Puddles became pools, pools flooded over into small lakes, which were drained by the city's sewer system that was hardly able to keep up swallowing it all. It gargled and gurgled, as if it was drowning. When its main underground bowels were filled to the rim with water from the heavens, its old branches, sealed off and out of use for many years, were opened by the tremendous pressure and flooded again. The relentless stream was now led into places, were it should not go.  
  
Vegeta was not even aware that it was raining, let alone that it had transformed into a raging storm, flooding the streets of the city. In his wretched prison where he was locked up, there was no link to the outside world. What he did notice, and that was merely because the blunt pipe protruded on his side of the prison, was that the modest drip of vile sewer's water had changed into a modest stream. It formed small puddles between the cobblestones, and as it hit them it splashed out in tiny droplets that drenched his face. It woke him. What the hell is going on, he thought and he held out his hand to collect the water from the stream that was now flooding in. The water was cleaner then normal, as if it had been diluted with fresh water from a deep well. Having already trouble to sustain his body temperature, Vegeta crawled away from the wetness. He reached the corner of his prison and curled up again, his knees pulled close to his chest while he wrapped his arms around them. He could feel the smooth surface of the shard against the back of his cuffed hand. He still had it. Tomorrow, if he was alive and strong enough to fight, he will make sure that he got his share of a meal.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The soft ticking of raindrops against the stained windows changed into a relentless pounding, as the Namek general opened his dark rimmed eyes and gazed around warily. He had fallen asleep at his desk, being exhausted after the many sleepless nights he had endured during the last few weeks. He leaned back on his chair and rubbed the sand out of his eyes, almost angry with himself that he had fallen asleep, for there were still so many things he had to attend to. He slapped on his cheeks, and warned his tired spirit that it was not the time, nor the place to take a nap. As he was talking to himself, a man dressed in a stainless army uniform entered, and looked at the commander with great puzzlement, but decided that it wiser not to comment on his strange behavior. The general was tired, and because of that he was suffering from a very vile mood already, but the message the man was about to deliver was probably going to worsen that even more.  
  
"General, lieutenant Grimmore reporting on the prisoner Sir."  
  
"Well, don't just stand there! Spill it out."  
  
"The physical punishments don't seem to work, the prisoner keeps denying to have anything to do with the murder, Sir."  
  
"What!?" barked the general, and he squeezed his hands till the knuckles showed white. "How can this be? Did you idiots try hard enough to make him confess?"  
  
"We tried everything Sir, we've put the prisoner on the rank, we flogged him till he was bleeding, we even used the hot iron on him. It was all of no use, he did not want to confess Sir."  
  
"I don't believe this!!" Piccolo yelled and in his rage, he smashed his fist on the table and went right through it with his brute strength, splintering the wood. "I don't FUCKING believe this!!!"  
  
"Sir, if I may so boldly comment, I believe that our suspect cannot bear anymore of our torments." Said the lieutenant, his face growing pale. " He's wounded, and I'm afraid that if we continue with our efforts, he will end up losing his mind. He had already reacted rather strangely towards our last session. At least, I expect that a man in agony will not burst into insane laughter when threatened."  
  
Piccolo pulled his hand out of the wrecked table. It struck the lieutenant that with all the brute force the general had used, there was not even a minor scratch to be found on his hand what so ever. These royal elite guys were really far beyond his league, and he thanked the Gods that he had mere a cozy desk job in the prison dungeons. The general stared at him, rage still burning in his alien eyes.  
  
"I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!! He should have confessed!!"  
  
"Well Sir, we did everything in our power to force him to, but the villain is obviously far too stubborn. Can't we just charge him for the murder and sentence him without a confession? I mean, we know that he did it, right?"  
  
There was a long silence, and the lieutenant was starting to feel quite uncomfortable, as the general seemed not to be confident enough to answer him. Piccolo banged his fists on the table. His eyes grew grim while his anger subsided.  
  
"Am I right Sir?" The lieutenant asked, very eager now to hear some sort of conformation to calm his growing sense of discomfort.  
  
Piccolo sighed. He rose from his chair, and paced towards the window. Outside, a heavy storm was roaming relentlessly. Heavy winds stripped bare the trees while a thick wall of rain fell out of the blackened sky. An impermeable haze of water gushing down the colored glass distorted his view to the outside world.  
  
"He's not stubborn Grimmore. I know this man. Dodoria has no pride to sustain stubbornness. He's has an evil heart, but he's gutless. I cannot imagine such a man taking these tortures that we have bestowed on him without giving in. He should have had screamed his admission by now if he was indeed guilty."  
  
"What are you implying Sir? You don't mean to say that the guy is innocent, are you?" The lieutenant asked. The bitter coppery taste of panic filled his mouth. Please don't tell me we have the wrong guy! The king has already been informed about the capture of the main suspect. He 's expecting to see some results rapidly. You can't just tell the man that we have been messing around with the royal kitchen chef for weeks and end up with nothing! He swallowed an arid lump, stuck in his throat, while he tried to hide some of his anxiousness from the general. Best to remain calm. Perhaps his superior officer didn't mean to tell him this at all.  
  
"I'm afraid that we indeed have captured the wrong man, lieutenant." Piccolo said, his voice as calm as ever.  
  
"How can this be!! Sir, you were so sure in the beginning! And the whole thing sounded so believable! Are you joking general because if you are, I don't think I appreciate your rather cruel sense of humor!"  
  
Piccolo was a bit stunned by the man's fierce reply and arched his brow.  
  
"Of course it's not a joke! I'm not the type and it's nor the time to fool around lieutenant! If Dodoria was indeed guilty of the queen's murder he would have had confessed by now. We have to drop his charges, the man is innocent and this lead on which we have been working so hard is dead."  
  
"Oh shit!" was all the lieutenant managed to say in his reply. This was God-awful. He could lose his job for this! He could be sent to do fieldwork! "Oh shit-o-shit-o-shit!"  
  
Piccolo's hand vanished in a pocket of his baggy trousers. He pulled out a small scroll of paper that he pushed into the shocked man's hands.  
  
"This message came from our elite investigators. It was delivered about an hour ago. Read it."  
  
The lieutenant opened the scroll with shaking hands. He needed to squint his eyes to read the fiery letters, since he was actually far-sighted, but thought it looked too puny to wear glasses. As the message of the writing became clear to him, he had to swallow once again a painful lump that obstructed his throat, before panic seized him.  
  
"T-The girl that they found, could she not be just another victim of rape?"  
  
Piccolo's back was turned on the man, as he was staring outside into the rain. His voice however, was as imposing as ever and left no doubts about his confidence in his own words.  
  
"Her body was found in a dried up well at the eastern borders of the city. There were no markings left on her that could indicate violence or abuse. Indeed, when the coroners performed her autopsy, they found that she was still a virgin when she died."  
  
Piccolo turned around, his eyes were dark.  
  
"I've never heard of a rapist that leaves his victim undesecrated. We are dealing with a murder with a different intention."  
  
"But this doesn't necessarily mean that her death is in any connection with our case. It could have been a coincidence that she was also employed here at the castle." spoke lieutenant Grimmore eagerly. He did not want it to be connected, for the girl's case seemed even more difficult to solve then the murder of their queen. Why couldn't they just blame the whole thing on the Vesuvian and close this case. The king would be happy, he could keep his cushy job, and the general could go back to fort Khazad Dum to do whatever he did there. Why complicate the matter with an obscure suspect that had already eluded their grip?  
  
"The girl's name was Yera." Piccolo spoke her name with respect. "An orphan who had been in service of sister Elaina from the convent of the Sacred mother Theresa for many years. She was reported missing from the 11th of the third quarter of the new moons, which is about two days before the poisoning. Sister Alaina could not make it to attend the delivery of the prince, and Yera was sent in her place. She never made it to the castle. The sisters had reported her missing when she didn't return the following days, but since all the city's resources were put on solving the queen's murder, nobody ever looked for her."  
  
The general paused for a moment, sunken into deep thoughts. He could not help but to feel guilty about the fact that nobody attended to this case sooner. The girl had been lying in the dried well for weeks, and her body already had started to decompose when a shepherd finally found her when he guided his sheep to the well to quench their thirst, not knowing that it was abandoned. The coroners who had examined her corpse told him that the she broke her legs during the fall, but that she was probably still alive, before starvation and exhaustion took her life. If they had looked for her, if they had been there earlier, she might have still been alive today.  
  
Once again, another innocent soul that he had failed to save.  
  
"The weird thing is, that although she never made it to the castle, the servants and the guards claim to have seen her attending the queen after she had given birth. She had served her ladyship during the first evening, and had brought her the fatal supper."  
  
Lieutenant Grimmore, who was sunken in his own, more selfish thoughts, lifted his brows in bewilderment.  
  
"What do you mean Sir? I don't understand."  
  
"Neither did I in the beginning. You see, I had questioned the staff about this servant girl, because if it turned out that Dodoria was not the one who had administrated the poison to her ladyship's food, then it must be one of the kitchenboys or the servants who did. They only knew that her name was Yera, and that she was a temporary employee. They could however, give a detailed description of her appearance, for she seemed not to be of the Saiyan race and many had noticed her presence."  
  
"But then, how did she ended up dead before she was able to reach the castle. Are the coroners not making any mistakes with appointing the time of her death?"  
  
"No, they were absolutely sure that she died the 14th of this timequarter. A day before the poisoning."  
  
"Well. Then she must be a ghost of somekind! Otherwise, how can you explain to me in any common sense how she could end up being seen by the staff after she was supposed to be murdered?"  
  
Piccolo gazed at the lieutenant and tipped with his finger on the opened scroll that the man still held in his hands.  
  
"Didn't you read her descriptions?" An accusing look was in the general's eyes.  
  
"Yes, but my mind is far to occupied now to deal with those minor details Sir. Why don't you just tell me what the link is between this girl and our queen's death? For so far, you've been serving me one uncanny riddle after the other. What use is in all this?"  
  
"The use in all this is that you might then start using your head, my dear Lieutenant." The general sneered. "Has these many years working in the dungeons blinded you for the worth of a life, that you cannot find it important enough to read about the death of a young servant girl, when she is of no use to your case?"  
  
"Of course not Sir. I'm sorry, I did not intend to seem so cold hearted." Stammered Grimmore. "It's just that the girl was an alien Sir, and I've always dealt with internal affaires in the past." He lied.  
  
"The girl, lieutenant Grimmore, was of Saiyan birth. The description the servants gave me were that of a Laverian-jin, this means green eyes, blue tanned skin and green, long braided hair. It indicates that an imposter had used her name to get close to her ladyship, with probably a darker intention then merely to serve her and the prince. Now, does this strike you as a God given clue lieutenant, or do you need more persuasion that this case is linked to ours?"  
  
"No Sir, it think it's finally clear now." Replied the baffled man after being whacked on the head with the answer almost literary.  
  
"Good."  
  
"Sir, don't we need to go after that Laverian guy immediately then? I, mean, the king has been waiting for us to solve this case very impatiently indeed. I don't want to pressurize you sir, but we really need to show his majesty some results soon." Or my job can be put at stake here, he thought rather panicky.  
  
"I have already taken care of that lieutenant. I've sent my men to trace back the unknown servant's origins, and I've sent others to inquire the sisters about Yera. For so far, it seems that there are no further clues on the mysterious identity of our suspect. That scroll that you hold in your hands, is all the information that they were able to obtain so far."  
  
"We cannot present this to the king!" yelped the desperate lieutenant. "We have to show him at least one suspect in custody. This drawback is absolutely unacceptable!"  
  
"Well, there's not much I can do about it, is there?!!" boomed the general's voice angrily, finally getting enough of the selfish man's anxiousness. "I'm sorry for you that we cannot use Dodoria as a sheep goat to retaliate on her ladyship's death, but these kind of cowardly and heinous acts just don't suite me at all, so we have to try even harder to find the true murderers, understood?!"  
  
Piccolo's eyes were raging with fire. This pencil sucker of a low rank officer had really pissed him off. Why do these men even join the Saiyan army, if their first intention was not to guard the justice that their king had priced so high in his reign?  
  
"I-I understand S-Sir. I-I am very s-sorry Sir." Stuttered Grimmore, and his face was an unknown color crimson. "I didn't mean to offend you Sir."  
  
"You didn't offend me lieutenant. You just offended yourself. Now get out of my sight."  
  
"Immediately Sir." Grimmore was on his way out when something came to his mind and he turned back, addressing the general rather hesitatingly.  
  
"Eh, Sorry to disturb you again, Sir. But if you were right about Dodoria being innocent-"  
  
Piccolo gazed angrily in Grimmore's eyes, and the man withered.  
  
"-Which of course I do not doubt, after having been persuaded by you good Sir! But, what shall we do with him then? Must I give the orders to set him free?"  
  
The general reflected the option for a moment. He was now convinced that Dodoria was not to be blamed for the queen's gruesome murder, but he still detested that man for what he had done to that child. A man of such wickedness should be disciplined.  
  
"Drop the charges for murder, but put him up for severe child abuse and neglect. See to it that he gets sentenced to four years, at a minimum that is."  
  
"I will see to that Sir. I will see to that right away. And what should we do with the child?"  
  
Piccolo hesitated for a moment. He wished the boy to be released from the dungeons and taken care of immediately, just like the other more fortunate boys they had rescued out of the hellish kitchens. However, there was something that withheld him form doing so. Actually, there were two things. First, he still had to be sure that the boy had nothing to do with the case. Although he was about 99,99% convinced of his innocence by now, the fact remained that they had indeed very little leads to the mysterious servant and they needed to question the boy to be absolutely certain that they didn't miss out on an important link. The second, more prominent objective however, came with the rather peculiar name of the boy. It didn't even struck him at first when the malicious chef had called the child by his given name, but after the arrest, the realization had had popped up in his mind and had not left his consciousness ever since. Vegeta was a royal name, only given to the heirs of the old rulers of Vegetasei. Anyone naming their child to this bloodthirsty linage nowadays must be very loyal indeed or entirely mad, for they were feared and loathed for their regime of death and suppression. The thought had once risen in his mind, that the boy carrying this name could be an heir of theVegeta household, the last survivor of their linage. However, he had brushed this implication aside almost straight away, calling himself a lunatic for even suggesting this.  
  
The child could have not been one of the house of Vegeta, for he had watched the last descendant of this wretched family die at the stake, burnt alive for his heinous crimes.  
  
"Sir, have you decided yet what to do with the boy?"  
  
The general unlocked himself from his thoughts. Gazing back into the darkness outside, he waved his hand to sign to the lieutenant that he was dismissed.  
  
"I've not decided yet. Bring him to see me tomorrow."  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
  
This is getting ridiculous, what are they trying to do, drowning the rats in here? Vegeta struggled to keep up standing straight to allow himself to reach just above the rising water with his trembling lips. Sharp pangs of cold stabbed him in his chest, hitting the air out of his lungs. He looked around desperately, searching for bricks sticking out of the walls where he could hang on to, but the stones were slippery with algae, and he could not hold on to any of them. As the water lifted his feet from the drowned floor, he instinctively kicked his legs in an effort to swim. He failed miserably, and had to jump up to keep his nose above the water instead. Each time before he sank back into the freezing water, he filled his lungs full of air, and once his bare feet hit the ground, he leaped, launching himself back to the surface. Each time he jumped, the silvery disk of the surface distanized from him further and further, and soon he won't be able to reach it anymore.  
  
He did not know how to swim, but if he wanted to survive, he will have to learn it quickly.  
  
Once again kicking fervently with his legs, he only managed to lift himself a couple of feet above the floor, only to sink back like a heavy brick the instance he became exhausted of the action. He tried again, more desperate this time, bending his legs sideways. They became entangled with his chains by this uncoordinated action, and as panic struck, he opened his mouth to scream, swallowing gallons of water into his lungs.  
  
He would have drowned, if not his legs had finally found the right movement and pace, and launched him to the surface.  
  
Vegeta's head emerged from the water, his thick, black hair stuck to his scalp and hung heavy down to his shoulders. Fear raided him as he started to sink again, but by instinct his arms joined in his fight to stay above water. They moved in a desperate manner, waving around as if trying to grab hold of the elusive fluid. Finally, as the boy forced himself to calm down, they found the pacing of his legs and he slowly learned to draw wide circles with them to keep floating. He swam gracelessly, but at least he was swimming.  
  
This was truly a desolate situation. The water kept flooding in through the blunt pipeline, the modest stream had changed into a roaring waterfall. He could hear the anxious pleads of the other prisoners, screaming and crying. The whole wing of the dungeon must have flooded. Vegeta stirred himself around to face the door. He was just in time to see the lights in the corridor extinguish. The rising waterlevel must have reached the burning torches. Suddenly, he found himself struggling in complete darkness. The screams of the prisoners intensified, as panic hit among them like a contagious disease. Vegeta stirred around again, blind in the dark but not able to fully use his sensitive hearing to compromise this lost. He moved himself away from the noise of falling water. He wanted to head for the door. Perhaps the keepers will be down in the dungeons soon and release the inmates, although in his heart, he knew better then to count on it.  
  
He was half way where his chains would permit him to go, when a scaly hand grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him below the surface. Just before the cold darkness hit his face, he was able to gasp for a small breath of air before he was forced to close his mouth. The water closed above his head, leaving him to the cold embrace of a sea of emptiness. Unable to see and hear, he could only guess where his attacker was as he tried to struggle free. He kicked with his legs fervently, and hit something hard. Just as the grip on his ankles receded and he swam away to reach for the surface, an arm grabbed him by his neck, keeping him in the darkness.  
  
His life was left at the mercy of his attacker after the strength to resist subsided out of his arms and legs with every minute that past in the serenity of this dark void. He couldn't see it, but as he was forced to expel the precious little air that was burning in his lungs, he knew that the trail of bubbles should have broken the surface almost immediately. Is this how it's going to end, he thought rather ironically, to drown here in a flooded dungeon with the surface only a few feet away from me? I've never done anything wrong to deserve this! Tears welted in his eyes, and were diluted in the vast amount of liquid. He no longer cared that he was crying indignantly, no one will ever know for he would never be allowed to leave this watery tomb.  
  
Stop sobbing you runt, if you're going to die, die with the honor of a soldier! -  
  
Vegeta was stunned to hear his cellmate's voice. He knew that it was that deranged fishguy who had dragged him down and was holding him here, but he could not understand how the creep could communicate with him.  
  
You forgot that I'm a Kanassian warrior, and that I therefore am perfectly fit to live in an aquatic environment. I can do everything here, including reading your mind and telling you that I'm about to let you perish. You see monkeyboy, it's actually not too bad to be a fishhead. At least I've gills. That would have been quite handy now for the time being, wouldn't you agree? -  
  
Vegeta shook his head feverishly, trying to free himself out of the monster's grip, but the warrior was far in his benefits; he had fresh air to fuel his muscles and he kept the boy in his clutches.  
  
-Stop struggling! It's of no use! Why don't you just give up boy? Make it easier on yourself. You would have drowned anyway. Those chains are far too short to allow you reach the surface if the water kept on rising. Better get it over with.-  
  
Closing his eyes, Vegeta tried to block out his thoughts. Another second and his hampered respiration would force him to open his mouth, to breathe in this cursed liquid and to allow it to penetrate and destroy his organs. He had only one chance left. One chance left to safe himself. His left hand reached for the shard under his cuff. He pulled it out, cutting the back of his hand in the process. As he concentrated to block ou the pain, he dropped the damn thing.  
  
He was just able to catch it, clasping the shard between two trembling fingers.  
  
Good monkeyboy. I cannot sense any thoughts coming from you now. Just let it flow. Let your life's energy drain out of your tormented little body. It's better his way.-  
  
With last fragments of strength, Vegeta clenched the shard in his hand and thrust the sharp piece into the warrior's stomach. A warm flow of liquid, more viscous then the surrounding dark waters, flooded between him and the alien. A scream, loud and terrifying, for it seemed to rise out of the depths of his awareness, crushed his temples as it resonated mercilessly trough his mind.  
  
-Arghhh!! What have you done you miserable worm!! What have you done to me!! What have you done!!"-  
  
The force in the man's arm slipped. Vegeta pushed him away, and with fire burning in his lungs and the cries of the alien's agony ringing in head, he reached for the surface.  
  
He broke the water with a wide splash, his head thrown back to his shoulders, and sucked in the sweet, wonderful air. His gasps were still stalled, for his lungs compelled him to cough up the liquid that had violated them. Squinting into the darkness beneath him with a life threatening anxiousness, he searched for the deranged monster, but could not detect him with his poorly adapted eyesight.  
  
While his heart pounded in his ears, and his mind was like a chaotic cluster of raging storms, he urged himself to calm down. To listen carefully for the smallest sound of wrinkling in the water or the breaking of the surface.  
  
With a trembling hand, he rose the shard above his shoulders, ready to strike. He could hear the sounds of dripping water. The rustling of the relentless stream flooding the chamber.  
  
With dread he waited for the warrior to resurface, but it remained quiet around him. Five minutes, ten minutes. Time crept by. The cries of the others began to die down, and his attention started to diminish as his anxiety for a second attack subsided.  
  
He must be dead.  
  
That fishguy must be dead.  
  
He must have killed him.  
  
The word murder sprang to his mind. It was a red tainted, burdened word that had been abstract and impassive before, but was now heavy with its association to death and fear. And despair. The kind that choked the air out of your windpipe and paralyzed you from head to toes. The boy stood perfectly still in the darkness. A sickening sensation washed over his body. What should he do? He understood that he had done something bad. Really bad. Murder was wicked, evil, something so horrid that even his heinous master Dodoria was incapable of. But he, Vegeta, had murdered a man. He had done this bad deed. He will be punished for it.  
  
He will be punished for it severely.  
  
It was not until the freezing cold reached his chin that he noticed the threat that still came from the rising water. The words of the alien were threatening to become true. His chains were indeed too short to permit him keeping his head above the surface. The cuffs on his ankles held him down, and he tugged on these restrains, trying to stretch them as far as he was still able to paddle with his legs. But then the water rose above his lips and he could only breathe through his nostrils. More out of shear panic then of rational thinking, he thrust the shard into the wall, burying it in the mortar between stones. He tried to pull himself up, but it was of no use, since his ankles and wrists were still chained to a bolt that was now at the bottom of the flooded chamber. The shard scratched a deep groove in the sandy texture, and as the boy thrust the piece once again into the damaged area, small fragments of the wall came loose and crumbled on his hand.  
  
A plan dawned in his anxious mind.  
  
Taking a deep breath of air, he plunged into the darkness. His hands grabbed the metal manacles, and he followed the chains that guided him down, till his feet toughed the bottom and he found the metal ring to which they were attached. It was secured into one single stone, embedded in the wall. With his fingers, he traced the grove framing the small rock, and scraped with the shard across these lines.  
  
He kept digging in these soft spots in the wall, only resurfacing for air when he could no longer hold his breath. Slowly but steadily, the stone loosened, and started to move between the others.  
  
With a strong jolt, the stone with the ring was moved half way out of its cavity. Another push with the shard and it would be released. Struggling for air, the boy swam up to breath one last time before he could finish his task. He was no more but a nose length away from the surface, when his chains gave a tug and held him back. Panic flashed in his mind like lightening. Pulling on his restrains desperately, he only managed to get the tip of his forehead to break the surface. Remnants of air began to torment his lungs, as they seemed to expand and stretch. Close to explode. He had to let it go and his hard earned breath departed him in a noisy string of bubbles. Empty now, his body started to protest and urged him to inhale. He had to breathe and fill that terrible emptiness with something, even if it was water. The desire to do so was absolutely painful. Paddling with his legs fervently, he did a last attempt to free that wretched stone out of its cavern, to free himself from his watery tomb, but there was no more strength in his legs. He gave up, closed his eyes and allowed the water to rape his lungs.  
  
He was drifting now. His body weak and limp floating in a big, all embracing darkness. The panic was gone, so was the fear. His mind was serene like the dark fluid surrounding him, penetrating him. Perhaps this is what happens, he wept, this is what happens when you die. I am dying. I'm punished for what I've done. I've been a very bad boy. I've killed, and now, the darkness is killing me.  
  
He bumped into something. Something soft. Fingers, cold and weak like the tentacles of a squid caressed his cheeks, almost as if to comfort him. They stroke through his waving hair lovingly. The tough of a love-struck ghost. He forced open his eyes but could not see. Fear, panic, they rose like the undead jumping out of their graves. In his mind the boy could imagine, could see how the fishman reached out to him with his dead hands, his face drained from color and dark as the water. Hollow were his eyes with an eternal, accusing gaze.  
  
And then his voice entered his mind.  
  
What are you waiting for monkeyboy? You are to join me, aren't you? I died because of you. You murdered me. This was not meant to happen. You were supposed to die, not me!! But it's fine. It's fine because the darkness is a good place to hide. I don't see anymore. I will never see again. I can't feel. I don't feel the cold that has entered my body after it was drained of my blood. It entered and will stay there like a winter that will never end. But it's all fine. It's not too bad to be dead.  
  
  
  
Join me, and let me show you how it is down there. Let me show how dark it can be, and how cold. It doesn't hurt to be dead.  
  
It doesn't hurt that much.  
  
"Noooo!!"  
  
A sudden rush of adrenalin powered his exhausted muscles. Legs moving frantically, arms pushing away the floating mass that was once a living, breathing man, but now was the dark embodiment of death. His body twisted around, shaking off the weak, fleshy tough of the corpse. He pulled and tugged on the chains. The pull on his ankles was first strong and merciless, but then conceded as the stone was lugged out of the wall.  
  
He drove himself to the surface, dragging the lose chains behind.  
  
As soon as his lips parted with the water, he heaved the precious air deep into his lungs. Coughing and retching, he spit up the fluid that had entered his system. I'm not going to die here! He thought. I'm not going to let you get me! You are an evil man! I didn't want to kill you, but you forced me. I'm not going to die here with you! I'm not going to die!!  
  
The dead warrior drifted around for a while, then sank to the bottom.  
  
His body shivering of cold and exhaustion, Vegeta swam away from the cursed place of the eerie encounter, towards what he guessed to be the direction of the prisondoor. He could not know for sure though. There was now a strange silence in the vaults. There was no more howling or screaming coming from outside. Even the sound of rustling water from the pipe had quiet down. There was only the trickling of droplets breaking the surface that resonated through the darkness.  
  
Vegeta hauled himself up against the cold steel of the door, finding support as he grabbed the bars of the peephole window. He peered through the small window. Nothing but the same dark abyss that was inside his prison. With his breath still panting, he screamed.  
  
"Help!!! Anybody!!! Help!!! Is there anybody there!?? Help!!!"  
  
He expected or hoped that the rest of the lucky citizens of this place of doom would join him in his pleads, but it remained absolutely silent. It was a drowned world out there. Every living soul had long ago cast out his last breath and had joined the eternal darkness. He was the sole survivor.  
  
He was all alone.  
  
"Anyone!! Anyone who can hear me!! Help me!! Please!!!! Help me!!!"  
  
His pleads echoed through the empty passageway. It entered and left flooded chambers, it pulsed into the water, and was heard by the ears of drowned men, who could no longer listen. Their lifeless bodies waved in an invisible current, like woods of sea anemones shifting to the tides, their feet locked to the bottom of their graves.  
  
"Please!! Help me!!! Release me!!! Release me!!!"  
  
I don't want to die in here. I have tried so very hard to stay alive. It's not fair. This is not fair. Not fair.  
  
I don't want to die.  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
OK, this is NOT the end of the chapter, but I was busy this week, so I could not finish it all in time. Still, a promise is a promise, so there you have the most interesting part of the story. It was getting way too long (what the hell is wrong with me? I wanted to keep it short, but this was the shortest I could get, argghhhh!!!). Another cliffhanger, you guys are going to hang me for this.  
  
The end of this part (and thus the final part of Book I) will be published the 2nd of jan 2002. I will just add it to this chapter as a update. Ow, Happy New Year guys!!!  
  
Ohh, please review and comment on this chapter. It's some new style I was trying and I still don't know if it's working or not.  
  
Cheers Pan. 


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